Sketchy Circumstances
Chapter 1: All That Remains
When Feliciano Vargas had been young, he had lived in a house filled with many different people. At first, his family had been very small. It was just his Grandfather, his older brother Lovino, his younger brother Marcello, and himself.
His parents had never come into the picture, and so he had never once asked about them. Feliciano simply ate, slept, and drew. Unlike his older brother, he had taken to painting – which was also a favorite pastime of Grandpa's. Marcello had been content with exploring the outdoors and wading into the sea by their home.
Even now, as the Italian lie in bed, he couldn't recall what his older brother had done throughout his childhood. Lovino had been introverted, keeping to himself other than to yell curses at anyone who bothered or upset him. The darker haired boy had vehemently refused to take part in drawing with Feliciano, or playing games with Marcello. Even their Grandpa couldn't bring a smile to his face.
Then, on a breezy night ten years ago, Lovino Romano Vargas had mysteriously disappeared. Nothing had been taken with him, not even basic provisions or beloved possessions. Distraught, the Vargas family had called the Polizia to their home.
Not a single lead on Lovino's whereabouts. The normally bright, airy home fell silent as each family member mourned the empty space where a certain grumpy boy usually occupied. They wanted him back. They couldn't be complete if one of their own was missing.
The number one of missing persons tallied to two just weeks after the eldest vanished.
Marcello, too, had gone. After bidding them good-bye to go explore the beach, he hadn't returned. Again, Grandpa Roma called on the law to help relocate the missing boy. And again, no clues to where Marcello had gone ever turned up.
Feliciano had gone around the city, hand in hand with his Grandfather, and searched for a telltale head of auburn, or for a bouncing wayward curl. After weeks of fruitless searching, they received a call. Several towns away, a woman had found a salmon colored inner tube on the shore near her home.
Marcello's inner tube.
Grandpa Vargas had left Feliciano at home with a family friend while he left to talk to both the Polizia and the woman. Before he left, he'd bent down to give him an uncharacteristic stern look in the eyes. "Feliciano," a hand fell on the top of his head to ruffle his hair. "Don't you go running off on me too, now, okay?" His voice cracked at the end of his plea, and Feli could almost feel his heart crack along with it.
"Wake up," the stern voice that jolted him out of reminiscing came from no other than Feliciano's tall, broad-shouldered partner: Ludwig Beilschmidt. Lazily, he rolled over, filling his vision with the slightly irritated German.
While it was rather early in the morning, Ludwig was already dressed for a long day out in the field. Hair slicked back, clothes impeccable, and his briefcase in hand. The Italian didn't even have to look to know that the man's gun was securely in his belt, as were several other things he'd need for the job.
"Feliciano, up," he requested again, this time reaching for the top of the blankets and harshly tugging them back. Oops! Looks like someone had forgotten a certain sketch artist preferred to sleep naked…
Spluttering, Ludwig reeled back, placing a hand over his flushed face. Feli steeled himself for the routine 'decency' lecture, but instead received a speedy explaination. "Kiku called, and we've a new, important case to get to this morning. Please, get dressed and grab your things – We'll leave in fifteen."
Feliciano whined as he sat up and stretched, sleepily reaching for his boxers on the floor. In a daze he proceeded to pull on the rest of his clothes and messily shoved his art supplies into the briefcase waiting for him at the foot of the bed.
That morning, before he walked out of the room to meet Ludwig downstairs, he knelt to better look over a picture framed on the night stand. "Ah…Grandpa," uncharacteristically, Feliciano briefly shed his routine cheerful personality.
Against his plead for his grandson to remain with him, Romulus Vargas had passed eight years previous; only two years after Romano and Marcello had vanished. Feliciano was the last Vargas. He couldn't help but wonder if his line of work, with his friends, would lead him to his missing brothers.
He couldn't help but hope … Until the day he'd seen evidence that they, like Grandpa, were truly beyond reach, he would never stop scouring the city for what he had lost.
Ludwig Beilschmidt was a patient man. He'd worked as a local detective for a short eternity, with a happy-go-lucky sketch artist working with him for the last four. Of course, it definitely hadn't started out as a perfect partnership; Feliciano had been resolute on filling his briefcase with pasta instead of the needed supplies for his line of work.
On several cases, leads were slow to come in. He'd been tolerant, the agonizing wait worth it once the incident had been solved. 'Good things come to those who wait,' or so said the popular expression.
This had to be the one thing he couldn't bring himself to wait for. After slews of minority jobs and mediocre mysteries, Kiku had finally called in to tell him about something genuinely promising. So favorable, in fact, that it had the possibility of promoting him from an average detective to the Special Agent assigned to the entire city.
The bus he and Feliciano were taking downtown groaned to a stop, the driver calling out their location in a bored tone. Ludwig stood, and after making sure Feliciano was paying attention, walked down the aisle. Like any good officer would, he nonchalantly scanned the other passengers for potential threats.
There were none.
He stepped onto the sidewalk, continuing forward with a quick pace. The German flinched when Feliciano clutched the tail of this coat, not wanting to be separated in the crowd flooding the busy walkways. Like the man they were going to see, Ludwig had never been all that great at accepting any form of physical interaction.
Unless, of course, it invoked violence. He'd rather be punched harshly in the solar plexus than receive a warm hug. At least he knew how to return a hit. But affection? Not so much.
Mere minutes later, the Italian grabbed for Ludwig's hand, pulling him closer to the road so that they avoided the middle congestion of passerby. His cheeks warmed, his palms grew sweaty, and his heartbeat began to accelerate.
Breathing deeply, he fixed the auburn haired man with a sharp glance. Unfazed Feli ogled the sights, though they were the same as any other day walking to their technology whiz's residence.
Speaking of which …
Ludwig quickly cut through the people to get to the door, rapping on the wood sharply with a gloved fist. It opened to a short, Japanese man. He smiled slightly, inviting them into his home and firmly closing – and bolting – the door behind them.
While Kiku ventured up the stairs to retrieve something for their meeting, Feliciano sat comfortably on the ground, sketching carefully. Despite himself, Ludwig leaned over to take a look. The only drawings of Feli's he ever really saw were portraits of chiseled criminals, with the occasional mural of pasta thrown in.
The Italian's charcoal pencil curved to outline a slightly rounded face, traveled to create the hairline, skipped higher onto the page to complete a distinct feature. "Is that you?" He heard himself ask, snapping the artist's concentration.
"Ve?" The startled sound slipped from the shorter man's mouth before he could stop it. "Oh, well actually it's of my older –" He stopped himself, something in his mind telling him to shut up. Heh, it almost sounded like the person he was drawing themself.
"Who?" Ludwig moved to sit beside the Italian, icy blue gaze still scrutinizing the art. Hastily, it was covered and placed inside the briefcase between them.
"I think Kiku's coming back down!" Fortunately for him, their Japanese friend was indeed back in the room, a sleek laptop cradled in his hands. Setting it on the low-lying table, he then motioned for the other two to join him around the screen.
"I have already called ahead to tell the police you will be joining them," he said, pulling up a different window. According to the reports you see here, there has been trouble in the … less patrolled area of our city."
With practiced strokes, Kiku began showing them suspects, evidence, and locations. "As you can see from these pictures taken by Elizabeta-san, the damage to the complex is severe. Police reports so far have counted four dead…" He blinked before turning to them and handing them a manila folder from his lap.
"The address is in this folder. Don't hesitate to call if you need something," he bowed, murmuring a polite farewell as he took the computer back upstairs, presumably to do what he could to provide them with even more intel.
They left promptly, though Feliciano insisted on asking Japan for the use of his kitchen before Ludwig managed to drag him out. As they set out for their destination, the sketch artist audibly complaining of how much walking they were going to do, neither notice the man staring at the now unlocked door of Kiku Honda's residence, wondering how the next parts of his plan will progress.
"It was on the left side," Ludwig said quietly has they crossed the street, the houses and scenery around them progressively growing more shady. His partner looked up at him, amber eyes confused. "Your drawing couldn't have been you," here, his eyes rested on the prominent curl on Feliciano's head. "Your curl is on the right side. Who were you drawing?"
Laughing nervously, the Italian looked away, purposely avoiding the other's eyes. "It is? I had never really noticed ~" Of course, this was a lie. He knew that Ludwig was right. But how dissuade him? He'd never had to talk about his family before, and of course he loved them! It was just difficult to get his childhood out in words to someone who he cared for so much. Normally, words came easily to him.
Luckily, after a suspicious sideways glance, the subject was dropped in favor of discussing their newest case. "Apartment complex burnt down, four deceased, two missing, o-one suspect?" The detective frowned as he flipped through the folder. The police hadn't apprehended this suspect yet, according to the data, but for there to be no doubt, only one possible answer – it wasn't very likely.
"It says here that this was definitely arson and that the victims were killed because … because …" Feliciano trailed off, the pictures included in the report dampening his happy demeanor. Sometimes, this job wasn't very good for someone like him. But he'd do anything to find leads on the whereabouts of his fratelli.
"Trapped in enclosed spaces, tied up, drugged," the German next to him listed off the doings of the murderer. "They were probably killed from inhaling the smoke before the fire even got to them," Ludwig carefully closed the folder, placing it in his briefcase.
"What about the other two, the missing ones?" While, for the life of him, Feli could never actually investigate, he had plenty of questions that could get Ludwig thinking on the right track. The duration of their walk to the complex was spent in silent; one immersing himself in the mystery of the two missing, and the other reciting as many pizza toppings in his head as he could remember.
"The hero is on the case!" Sure, this was some serious business, with it being crime and all. But no villain would ever be a match against the hero - Alfred F. Jones! The American in question tugged his jacket more snugly over the uniform he wore, gloved hands mindlessly reaching for the burger stuffed in a pocket.
Before he could stuff it in his mouth, however, another gloved hand clamped on his wrist. "Al," his partner hissed, trying to snatch the hamburger out of his hand. If Im Yong Soo wanted this gorgeous burger, he was going to have to pry it from Alfred's cold, dead fingers.
"I don't want you to get in trouble for eating on the job again!" The Korean cursed himself for being shorter than the blonde, straining to reach the aforementioned snack. He was definitely not thinking about how close he was to his friend. No, not at all.
"Jones, get over here," one of the officers called, waving the duo over. Yong Soo looked a little disgruntled at not being recognized, but let it slide when Alfred smiled down at him as they made their way over.
The ruins of what had once been a decent apartment complex lay in front of them, the concrete base scorched by the flames. Alfred struck up conversation on the new case, doing his best to find out all that he could. His demeanor grew more somber with each word.
Four dead, their masculinity the only thing linking these victims together. One of the missing was a child, the other, a smoker who had anger issues. When the names were listed, the American blinked in surprise. Two in particular, he recognized.
Toris Laurinaitis – his friend from high school? The caring, nervous man had been killed… He felt a short pang as he realized he hadn't contacted his classmate for years. Too caught up in work , and current cases, to keep up with old acquaintances.
While he of course felt saddened at the news of Toris, he was downright shocked at one of the missing people. Carlos Machado? The guy that had always held a grudge against him, especially after beating him out to win the position he held now? Alfred's eyes narrowed as another piece of information surfaced in his mind. This was also the guy that had beaten up his brother a few years ago, thinking it had been him instead.
While Im Yong Soo left to question the residents of the building, Alfred asked for the last piece of the case. "Suspects?" The officer in front of him hesitated, glancing around as if making sure the supposed killer wouldn't lunge for them from the rubble of the apartments.
"Ivan Braginski – a man no one has seen him around the scene today," he tipped his hat before dismissing himself. "If you'd excuse me, I've got to go brief the next two we've called in. They should be here shortly.
Alfred nodded numbly, watching the man leave. His sky blue eyes trailed to the South Korean walking back from the witnesses, his face unnaturally pale. "You heard?" Yong Soo asked, his pallor whitening by the second. The American nodded and stepped closer, worried his partner would end up fainting onto the cement walk below their feet.
"I guess we've got to go and pay aniki a visit, huh?"
TRANSLATIONS:
Polizia – Police. (Italian.)
Fratelli – Brothers. (Italian.)
Aniki – Older Brother. (Japanese.)
Hetalia and all of its wonderful characters belong to Hima-papa.
Hej. I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of what is to be a hopefully enjoyable ride. If you'd like, leave a review. It would be much appreciated!