Heyo guys. I bring you Thriller-goodness. The kind like Dan Brown's thriller, with an addition of delicious yaoi. Please review and tell me, how you liked it ^^.

Pairing: UsxUkxUs (didn't have enough space in the summary)

Warnings: Sexy times in later chapter. Also, violence. (I don't think that I'll offend any religions by this, so no worries, I'm not going to make theories about Jesus being married and the kind)

Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia, Himaruya Hidekaz does. This fanfiction is purely fanmade and is not taking profits.

And now... here comes the intro-chapter ^^

Chapter 1: Francis' request of doom

As the sun slowly withdrew itself from the surface of a clear golden sky, the servant of God stabbed his enemy. Blood escaped from the wound on his chest and trickled into the slits of the stony paved ground. He smiled in satisfaction as he watched the thick liquid spread. Men were created perfect, he realised. He would pray for his enemy's soul later, for he was a good servant of the Lord, who loved even his opponents. A most worthy place was chosen by the servant for his victim to die; the lifeless body was bathed in late sunlight and found itself surrounded by marmoreal angels as if they were his guardians, a beautiful small chapel, far away from the city's noise and impurity. The mother of God smiled with her merciful countenance upon the motionless body.

oOo

Alfred F. Jones had long anticipated the day wherein he was finally getting his well-deserved break from his job. He loved being a cop; he would even call himself devoted. Doing his job was no mere working for a living, there's a well-kept idealism of justice serving as a reason. Not to mention that he liked being a hero for the troubled citizens. However he decided to go on holiday for a change, leaving his progressive career for a while.

The first notion after stepping one foot on France's soil was that the country had a different smell. It was not the scent of home; it was not at all like his beloved United States. The sentiment caused him to feel homesick already, and he toyed with the idea of turning back and taking a flight back home. Still, he was mature enough to not do so.

He felt relieved as he spotted his name, which was scribbled on a piece of paper that was held high above the heads of the crowd. He approached the one who was there to pick him up, wearing a beaming smile.

oOo

Francis was highly amused by the sight of a gaping American.

He had assigned his chauffeur to pick up his guest; he himself was delightedly expecting him in his not so modest mansion, located in Nord-Pas-de-Calais. Said mansion had left Alfred dumbfounded as soon as he beheld it from afar. While he was fully aware of his distant relative's wealth, he hadn't expected a castle serving as a residential building.

The neo-gothic opus was surrounded by a large, well cultivated garden.

"Château…," was the only thing that American could manage to utter.

"Not quite, sweet Alfred. It's just a house." The blond Frenchman with tied back shoulder-length hair chuckled, while leading his guest inside.

"Yes, fuck you."

The interior was, if possible, even more intriguing. The high ceiling of the entrance hall was, despite of the gold-plated rib vault, completely coated in royal blue. The sunlight threw colourful patches of light through the high painted window. He had the impression of standing inside of a church instead of a mansion.

A stereotypical French-looking butler, who Alfred spontaneously named Sebastian in his mind, heaved his luggage upstairs. The pair continued their way to the parlour, simultaneously asking about each other's well-being. Alfred had troubles understanding the Frenchman's accent, which was clearly intentionally thick just to tease him.

The American remarked with relief that the parlour was set more homely rather than pompously decorated; a flat screen TV proved him that he was still in modern time. Still, the room was a posh area, adorned with numerous paintings, which Alfred found out to be pictures of religious scenes. As he let his gaze wander around, he took notice of a man who was seated on one of the leather sofas. That man unknown to him appeared to be sound asleep; his scarab blue blazer had slightly slipped from his shoulder. Both hands were casually rested on a book atop of his lap. Alfred found himself staring at the man's pair of prominent eyebrows. He heard Francis' regretful sigh.

"I was undressing him before you arrived."

That would explain the somewhat down-slid blazer, also the halfway unbuttoned shirt that allowed insight into the stranger's collarbone and a bit of his chest. Alfred started to feel uneasy while he recalled the Frenchman's infamous reputation.

"Did I, you know, interrupt both of you in the middle of something?" He couldn't really decide whether to sound apologetic or not.

"No, I think you saved him. He was already asleep when I attempted to get rid of his clothes."

"What?" Alfred managed to reduce his shout into an unbelieving whisper. "You – Francis, have you lost it? That's so gross, I mean scandalous and wrong!"

Francis shrugged and wore a sheepish smile. "I couldn't resist. He wouldn't let me otherwise."

"Totally a reason to grope a sleeping person."

"Well yes."

"No!"

Because the two weren't able to keep their voices down anymore, the sleeping man was awoken by the disturbance. An annoyed groan left his mouth. His sleepy expression turned to utterly horrified as he caught sight of his not as neat as before attire.

"Francis, you sick frog-fucking arse!" There came an angry yell from across the room.

At that moment Alfred figured out that the man was British.

oOo

Their dinner was a quiet one, be it because they were concentrating on their delicious serving, or because of a tension still lingering from the incident before. Alfred awkwardly took a small bite of his fish; he could practically taste the healthiness of it, in contrast to his usual fast food. Whilst chewing he covertly let his gaze wander around the round table; the Briton, whose name was Arthur, was sitting on the opposite side. The candles in front of him illuminated his sour face, placing a creepy shadow under his eyes. Next to him sat Francis, looking not a tad guilty, instead he was delicately savouring his meal, every now and then taking a sip of his red wine.

"Guess what, I recently caught a bigwig of the mafia back home. How awesome is that!" Alfred finally decided to break the unpleasant silence, and what was better than talking about himself and his heroic actions.

Francis raised a brow, looking genuinely impressed. Even Arthur was looking up again. The American was happy to get their attention and to have been able to loosen the atmosphere a bit. He eagerly explained how they had outwitted the criminal by sabotaging a secret transaction, both listeners smiled at the action movie-like description of events. Looking at the almost kid and his energy, they did not doubt that the incident occurred just as depicted.

At last the American leant back on his seat and drank from his glass of water.

"Man, am I awesome or what."

"Yes, indeed," the Frenchman gave Arthur a soft nudge, earning an enquiring look from the Briton. "Arthur, darling. Don't you think, he could be helpful on your task?"

"Don't call me that shit, Francis," the other snapped, "and what task? You were asking me a favour, that's all."

"That's what I mean," Francis raised his hands in a soothing manner.

"I don't think I would need help."

An obviously confused Alfred waited for explanation. He didn't know what to think of his situation, just that it was not at all comfortable. First the two older men were bickering in an embarrassing (gay) way in front of him; and also his name was mentioned.

Francis caught Alfred's lost expression, straightened himself and began to explain.

"You know, I'm a collector of Christian arts and relics," said Francis. Alfred nodded, he somewhat figured out by seeing his host's gathering of paintings and other antique items.

"Didn't know you were religious."

"Not really. But you know that I have a thing for the beautiful," Francis said while stroking a very much appalled Arthur along his cheekbone, his fingers stopped at the large eyebrow and caressed it fondly.

"Stop it!"

"And creations in humans' endeavour to come just a bit closer to God are beautiful. They have so many facets, starting from genuine devotion to the point of subconsciously wishing to become God themselves."

The American did not know much about arts and their meaning, he found them pretty but they were never a part of his life. Yet he couldn't help but being moved by the Frenchman's words. And seeing Francis with a love struck expression that had nothing to do with perverse intentions was indeed a refreshing sight. Apparently Arthur was thinking the exact same thing; his eyes were widened in surprise, revealing his striking green irides fully. Alfred thought rather quizzically that Francis might have a better chance on wooing the Briton by now.

"So, what's my part in this whole collector mania?" Alfred asked, now genuinely curious.

"I heard a rumour about the existence of some unpublished writings and letters, written by the," Francis paused for a dramatic effect, "the one and only Martin Luther."

"Hey I know that guy!"

Arthur couldn't resist rolling his eyes at Alfred's cry of amateurishness.

"Well I bloody hope so."

"So, I'm really eager to have them in my possession. I'm not sure about their historic value but hey, it's Martin Luther we're talking about!" Francis had ignored the unpleasant tension between his guests, so he paid no attention to Alfred's and Arthur's glare war as he explained his intention.

"I still have no clue about the connection to me," the American retorted after he decided to tear his glare away from Arthur.

"Nothing in fact," was Arthur's rough interjection that Francis once again chose to ignore.

"Alfred, Arthur here," Francis pointed to the man beside him, "is a fully qualified theologian."

Alfred interrupted with a snort, earning another death glare, emphasised by the large eyebrows, from the Briton.

"'M sorry, seriously no offence. It's just…you look so young."

"My age has nothing to with my job."

"Yeah, sorry. My bad."

"Would you please stop interrupting my speech? Anyways, as I said, Arthur is a theologian. He'd helped me several times to add pieces to my collection, since it's important to do the right amount of research and investigation. And in the end the authenticity must be proven." The Frenchman paused for a moment, took a sip of wine, examined his glass, and watched his own reflection in the red liquid. "And I was wondering, Alfred, are you willing to help him?"

Alfred frowned. "Well, I don't think I could be of any help."

"But I'm worried about Arthur, he'll be alone, there are so many evil men outside!" The Frenchman buried his face dramatically into his palms and muttered something unintelligible in his language.

"You frog! You never gave shit about my safety before!"

"You are used to investigating stuffs, aren't you? And also, you get a chance to travel around Europe. Hein?"

Alfred's interest was piqued; he did not expect an exciting task, but getting to see Europe seemed to be a nice alternative to a bored countryside and a perverted Frenchman. He would have to deal with the annoying Brit, but he could handle.

"Sounds interesting," he finally said and rewarded the two older men with a bright glint of his sky blue eyes behind his framed glasses.

oOo

The next day he had breakfast with only a grumpy Englishman as his companion. They silently chewed on their toasts or drank coffee and tea respectively. Alfred had asked about Francis' whereabouts and Arthur informed him that said man had left for work, a shadowy one, he added.

The young American eventually examined the terrace they were sitting at; from there he had full outlook of the backyard that was without doubt magical. It was pervaded by a green labyrinth with lowly cut walls. Inside the labyrinth he could see life-sized statues; they were spread across the whole maze. Alfred recognized them as figures from a famous fairytale, Alice in Wonderland. Humpty Dumpty was sitting on a wall, staring down at the stony white rabbit that was typically in a hurry, right behind it was Alice chasing after him. There were other similar figures, some names he had forgotten. And in the middle of the labyrinth was a larger square of lawn, at the centre, a mad tea party was taking place.

"Awesome," he breathed out.

Arthur followed his gaze and nodded.

"Never have thought to find something so obviously English in this house," Alfred muttered, astonished.

"Yes, well. He did make this when I was little and he only a teenager, the fool."

"You know each other that long already? That's kinda sweet of him."

The Englishman didn't respond to that, instead he continued to sip on his cup of tea and read the morning paper, now and then staring puzzled at French words he didn't understand. Alfred did not mind and decided to marvel at the gorgeous garden again.

"This is your first time being in Europe?"

Alfred's head shot back to the Englishman, surprise clearly visible at the unexpected question. He noticed how the other avoided looking straight at him. Alfred nodded.

"And yes, I'm that kind of ignorant American, who hadn't realised that there's another world outside of the continent – up until now."

Arthur was taken aback by the response and his reaction was followed by a soft chuckle.

"That's quite an intelligent and self-conscious joke coming from an ignorant American."

That American couldn't help but feel a slightly bit embarrassed by the unexpected praise and laughed in an undefined manner. He himself was curious to find out more about the Briton, but that face with a perpetual frown didn't seem too receptive for personal questions, so he decided to stay quiet, staying on the safe side. Though there was something he could use as a conversation topic, because he hated silence; they were always so awkward.

"So, what about that investigation thingie?"

"Sorry?"

"You know - those Martin Luther scripts."

"Oh," Arthur shrugged, "well I'm to be frank not too excited about it. Firstly, Francis' information is painfully vague, we have nearly no starting point. Then, it's presumably a boring task, because the scripts will be, I'm pretty sure, of no great scientific significance. Sure, he was an important figure in history, but a few unknown letters of him are merely worth to be gifted to a museum. I don't understand why Francis would want them in the first place; he was never very interested in scriptures."

Arthur observed how the other's expression fell, from being bright and optimistic to downright disappointed as he went with his reasoning. He felt a tad bit guilty afterwards for crushing Alfred's imagination of an adventurous full-of-action-and-mystery job, especially because his face was shining so brightly in anticipation before.

"I'm sorry Alfred. But you will surely enjoy your Europe trip. I can show you around."

Arthur noted with relief that the younger man had brightened up again, beaming with his whole boyish face. And also, he didn't know what caused this random notion; there was this odd blond strand that stuck up from the American's hairline. He was fighting the urge to flatten it since yesterday. He wondered whether it was supposed to be stylish.

His train of thought was interrupted by Alfred's groan.

"I'm bored! Can't we go now?"

"Don't you want to say goodbye to Francis?"

"Uh, I'd rather avoid a situation where he's making excuses to kiss me."

"Tell me about it!"

They laughed.

The time Francis arrived home; his guests were gone, including his sports car.

So, how did you like it? Nothing much happened yet. This is in fact my first Hetalia fanfic. I had several half-written stories before, but they were in German, since I did not dare to directly write in English. The result was that in the end, I had no motivation in translating into English. So I decided to directly write in English this time, so I'm pretty nervous about it hahaha.

Random notice: my British spell/grammar-checker was all bitchy at Alfred's dialogues.