Hello amazing people of the world of fanficiton! I couldn't stand it, I've been so caught up with Hetalia lately and this story has just been so much fun to write that I just HAD to post it on fanficiton. I swear to all my loyal fans that I WILL finish all my other stories, it's just a matter of what I'm in the mood to write at the moment and right now it's Hetalia. Anyway, I shall finish everything.
Winter was and always will be a prominent part of life in Russia. The cold and the land were coinciding entities. One would not exist without the other, and the people who live there had come to accept and live with this fact. This, however, was not the case with Alfred Jones.
A young American, born and raised in Virginia; Alfred moved out to Moscow two years ago to work as an officer for the Russian police department. He had almost immediately regretted the decision. The first thing he'd noticed was the cold, and the second was the snow. The third thing that had caught his attention was that as the long and bitter winter came to a close and spring melted the snow, masses of bodies began appearing all over the city like a plague. After this first winter, Alfred began to hate the snow with a passion.
"Alfred."
The younger officer didn't even so much as blink at as his name was called. His eyes were still trained on the window, his cheek resting firmly in the palm of his hand and his elbow sat propped up atop the diner table.
Nikolai grunted, the larger man leaning back in his seat, arms folded over his thick chest. "Alfred!" he shouted, startling half the patrons in the diner who spilled their lukewarm coffees on their laps.
"It's snowing outside," Alfred replied, his words soft and slightly irritated. His eyes narrowed the tiniest bit, almost as if he were inwardly cursing the fluffy white flakes.
Nikolai swished the vodka in his glass around before taking a small swig. "It does that a lot here, comrade."
"It's the first snow of the year."
"Ah," the older man nodded, "so that's why you looked like you were contemplating the universe. I figured you couldn't possibly become so pensive in such a short amount of time."
Alfred gave the other an un-amused look, then let his head slide further down his arm until it rested on the cool table. Everyone in this profession knew what the first snow of the year meant. It meant that it was the start of their busiest season, one that always went off with a bang. By the time morning came around, there was no doubt that the two cops would be flooded with calls coming in about bodies turning up in streets and alleyways, down in the Metro and in apartment buildings. There would be many sleepless and bloody nights for the next few months. It just seemed that winter in these parts brought out the worst in people.
There was a special group in particular that gave the Moscow police the most trouble. It was one that Alfred had heard of many, many times, and one that left Alfred cleaning up their messes on numerous occasions. The local Russian mafia was one of the most notorious, yet untraceable criminal organizations in all of Moscow. They contributed to at least eighty five percent of the city's murders, and from what Alfred had been told during his time in the force, the police interacted with them often. However, due to various briberies and deals within the system, there wasn't anything anyone could do about the group's actions. Alfred was determined to put an end to all of this. No matter how long it took and how many criminals he put behind bars, Alfred would put an end to the Russian mafia. He did like to think himself a hero, after all, and heroes protected innocent citizens no matter what country they were in.
"I'm just so sick and tired of all the murders in this city," Alfred said. He lifted his head from the table, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.
"No, you're just tired that no one will give you any information on the head of the mafia." Nikolai smirked down into his vodka, and took another quick swig. He set the glass onto the table with a content sigh. "You really should just give up on finding him, Al. Even if you somehow managed to pry some information out of the other investigators and you did get close to the guy, you'd just end up getting shot in the head." He lifted his hand, imitating a gun as he pointed to his temple, "Bang. Just like everybody else that ever got close enough to be a nuisance."
"So?" the younger pouted, sticking out his lower lip a bit.
Good, Nikolai didn't enjoy being around serious Alfred. That man was a killjoy. Regular Alfred was much more entertaining to be around, even if his type of humor was a little different.
"Somebody's gotta get this guy off the streets. It may as well a hero like me!" A wide grin spread over his pink lips as he thrust his thumb toward his chest. Nikolai rolled his eyes. "Besides, even if I do get taken out, I plan on getting as much information as I can so the good cops like us can finally get somewhere. Think about it, lower crime rate, less murders, hardly any bodies to clean up; I don't know about you, but sounds like heaven to me."
"It does sound nice. But I don't think I'll be letting my partner commit suicide any time soon. It'll take too long to break in a new one."
Alfred gave a small, dog-like snort and pushed himself out of his seat. "Whatever. By the time you find someone to replace me, you'll be too damn old to remember where you parked your squad car. Maybe you should think about retiring, old man." Nikolai shook his head, leaning over the table and taking another swig of vodka.
"Where are you going, comrade?" Nikolai asked as Alfred began toward the door.
"The bar," came the blunt response. The small bell chimed as the door was pushed open, then again as it swung shut.
Alfred shivered, shoving his hands into the pockets of his large brown aviator coat. The coat had been a gift from his father, an Air Force veteran. It was his most cherished position… well, that and a silver chain necklace his brother had given him back in the states. Alfred never went out without having both items on his person.
The already thick snow on the ground crunched heavily beneath his boots. He hadn't bothered driving; the diner was well within walking distance from his flat, as well as the bar.
Alfred was a tall, well built man. He didn't appear heavily muscled, as he was almost always in larger clothing even during the warmer months, so it was common for others to underestimate him. And there really wasn't any problem with that. Alfred quite enjoyed having the element of surprise on his side. His eyes were a brilliant sky blue, their beauty obscured by the glasses that sat on his nose. Though contacts would save him the trouble of constantly trying to adjust the damn things all the time, they were a bother to put up with. Not only that, but they were expensive as all get out. His hair was a bit shaggy, a darker, wheat colored blond, his light skin still clinging to the remnants of a tan he'd once had spending time outside in the US. Alfred took pride in his appearance, and always took time during his morning routine to make himself thoroughly presentable.
He pushed the door open, shaking off the loose snow from his clothes and hair as he stepped inside. The bar wasn't anything special, just a run-of-the-mill joint that served anyone and everyone who walked in the door with the same amount of faintly hidden contempt and blatant disregard. It reeked of cigarettes and sweat that radiated from the patrons as well as some of the employees. As long as you had money, they could care less who stepped through the door.
Alfred casually strode inside, passing drunkards spending half a day's paycheck for watered down vodka, and prostitutes looking for an honest day's pay as he wandered up to the bar. He plopped down on a stool and ordered a beer, not that he didn't enjoy vodka, it just wasn't something he drank recreationally.
The barkeeper spared him the odd looks, well aware of Alfred's habit of coming in and avoiding the Russian water. He handed the officer an amber bottle of Jack Daniel's and continued his work serving the other customers.
Placing the bottle to his lips, Alfred tilted his head back and allowed the thick liquid to drain down his throat. His eyes ghosted over the people in the bar, finding no one of interest to associate with. He normally wasn't the type of person to scan the bars for potential flings. Alfred was a guy who believed in loyalty and love, but being a single man, and one with a stressful job at that, it was becoming more and more common for the officer to bring home a couple of one night stands every now and again.
Alfred sighed and turned back his beer bottle, his hand absentmindedly fingering the chain around his neck. God, he missed his brothers. Maybe he could give them a call when he decided to go home. With the time difference, it was probably somewhere around noon over there, and it was better than just sitting around with nothing better to do.
The door to the bar opened, clicking as it slid shut. Alfred didn't bother looking up. He was too lost in old memories to bother; caught up in the time he and his younger brother, Matthew, attended a World Series game during his birthday. That had been one of the best days of his life.
He felt the space next to him become occupied, the air growing slightly warmer with the new presence. Only then did he cast a glance upward, finding his eyes widen for a brief instant before he turned away.
The man beside him was tall, very tall. Even with his heavy tan overcoat, Alfred could see the guy had a broad chest and shoulders. The pale, pink scarf that wound around his neck hung nearly to the floor. His hair was very light in color; Alfred couldn't tell if it was silver or an overly platinum blond. And his eyes, they were even more confounding. They appeared to be purple, a light violet or a deep amethyst. He wore a bright, child-like smile, his skin nearly as white as the snow that fell outside. What surprised Alfred the most, however, was that he'd managed to notice all of this within a span of two seconds.
"A bottle of vodka, please," the man asked, his voice bubbly yet lacking any warmth to it, just like the smile on his lips. It was fairly creepy, but Alfred paid it no mind.
The bartender shrugged, and handed the man his drink. Alfred pulled his eyes back to his drink, forcing his stare onto the tawny liquid inside. Out of his peripheral vision, Alfred caught sight of the violet eyes landing briefly on him.
"Stressful day at work?"
Alfred looked up, blue eyes meeting violet. He blinked, then slowly looked back at the bottle in his hands, a bitter smile staining his lips. "Yeah," he sighed.
The man chuckled lightly, leaning an arm on the bar and positioning himself to better look at the American. "I didn't think you were Russian. Your skin is too tan and your hair is a color not normally found around this city."
"Um, thank you?" You'd think the fact that he was drinking something other than vodka or wine would give it away, not the color of his hair.
The larger man swiveled on the bar stool and made to stand. "My apologies. I'm making you uncomfortable, da? You looked like you could use someone to talk to, so I decided to sit next to you. But if you don't want me here, I'll go."
Alfred blinked a bit in surprise, but quickly shook his head. "No, I'm not uncomfortable. You can keep sitting here. It's nice to chat with someone who isn't piss drunk or trying to get into my pants for money." He offered the other a wide but sincere grin and extended his hand politely. "My name's Alfred. Alfred Jones."
The other smiled as well, his lips pulling up a hair further but never exposing teeth. It was the same smile as earlier, just with a bit more warmth to it. He took the offered hand in his own gloved one and shook it firmly. "Ivan Brakinski. It's a pleasure, Alfred."
"Likewise."
Ivan placed the bottle to his lips and took a swig, his violet eyes staying on the American. Strangely, Alfred didn't mind this, inhaling a bit of his own drink as well.
"So, I've never seen you in this place before. You out here on business, or something?" Alfred asked, trying his best to strike up conversation that may hopefully lead to… well, something else. He wasn't certain about the guy's intentions, but hey, if he didn't swing that way it wouldn't be much of a loss.
"Da, something like this. My work doesn't allow me to get away much, so after some business in the area I decided to sneak away for a drink." He smiled cutely, and Alfred couldn't help but chuckle a little. It was surprising how such a big guy could look so much like a little kitten. "I'm guessing you must come here often if you remember everyone who walks through the door."
Alfred smiled sheepishly, his free hand carding through his still snow-dampened hair. "Well, this is kind of like my second home. I don't remember everybody I see, but I think I would've remembered if I had seen you in here before. It's not often people who actually have money find their way in here."
"Well, I don't know whether to be flattered or nervous that what I'm ingesting may not be sanitary." He eyed his bottle of vodka wearily for a moment before setting it back on the bar. Both men laughed.
Their conversation continued on like this well into the night. In his two years here, Alfred had never had so much fun talking with someone. This was mostly because his Russian was still flawed, and many of the natives who heard his accent immediately labeled him as a stupid, narcissistic American. So, there wasn't really any mystery why Alfred's only 'friends' consisted of other officers down at the station. But, it really seemed like Ivan could care less about where he was from, and it showed in the cheerful way he spoke to him.
Alfred sighed, sapphire eyes drifting over the remains of beer and vodka bottles. He felt a little tipsy, but he could definitely steer himself home without passing out in a snowdrift somewhere. Ivan, however, only looked slightly buzzed, despite having downed far more alcohol than the American.
Ivan stood and shook Alfred's hand. "I had a lot of fun here tonight, Alfred, but it appears it is time for me to get back to work. Here," He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out what looked like a business card, and handed it to Alfred, "In case you'd like to get together for another drink." The card was virtually blank other than the man's name and a phone number. Alfred felt a small blush dust his cheeks.
"Heh, thanks. Another get together sounds fun."
Ivan smiled, giving a small nod before taking his leave. That sure was a pretty smile. Alfred looked at the small card sitting in his hand. That's right, he never managed to ask what it was Ivan did for a living. And though the tall Russian had seemed curious about Alfred's line of work, they'd never managed to cover that either. Oh well.
oOxoxOo
Ivan wandered down the icy streets –well, stalked is more like it-. His glove hands sat in the deep pockets of his trench coat, the right one fingering something metallic and warm from the body heat surrounding it. The warm smile he had left the bar with no longer held any warmth, becoming cold and soulless as it had been earlier that day. It was terrifying, really. However, that same look that left so many scarred and cowering in fear had had no effect on the little American sitting at the bar.
His mind wandered back to the blond, a hint of warmth returning briefly to the icy smile. It really had been nice to get away from his everyday life, having someone to talk to who didn't know the real him and may never will. It also didn't hurt that Alfred had been attractive.
Those thoughts quickly faded away as violet eyes spotted a man with white hair leaning against the side of a black limousine a few yards away. The albino was clearly focused on something else as his red eyes never strayed from the little electronic device in his hand. Ivan smirked as he strode up to him.
"Waiting for someone, Gilbert?"
The white-haired man startled, pulling a gun from a holster strapped to his waist and aiming it at the taller man. Ivan was quick to do the same, removing the pistol from his coat pocket just as swiftly as the other.
"Oh, s-sorry, boss," the other laughed nervously, tucking the weapon away. Again, Ivan did the same. "Didn't realize it was you." Though he spoke Russian, his voice held a thick German accent. He pulled open the door to the limousine as Ivan rose a suspicious brow.
"Well now, you must have known it was me," Ivan gave the other a child-like smile, "otherwise you wouldn't have been waiting here in the first place. Who told you where to find me, Beilshmidt? I don't remember telling any of my men where I had gone to." He eyed the German cryptically, causing the other man to tremble.
"U-Um, Ludwig told me you had d-disappeared around this area. I figured you'd probably be off getting wasted at the only bar around and would need a ride home." Gilbert gave the man a nervous smile, running his pale, pale hand through his hair.
Ivan continued to stare down the German for another minute, that same eerie smile still on his face. Finally, he slid into the vehicle, leaving the other to utter a sigh of relief, and allowed the door to be closed behind him.
Leave it to Ludwig to give away his only hiding spot, and to that loud mouth brother of his, no less. Well, at least the man was taking his job seriously. Ivan felt the limo skid slightly as Gilbert struck a piece of black ice and it reminded him that he should probably have new tires put on.
He reached into back into his pocket, maneuvering past the gun and retrieving his cell phone. As soon as he heard the phone click on the other end, the Russian gave no chance for the other to speak. "Toris, is Ludwig there?"
"U-um, yes," a shaky voice replied on the other end, "Do you need to speak with him?"
"Nyet. Has he informed anyone of my whereabouts?" Ivan's eyes were trained on the passing scenery, his hands absentmindedly fiddling with the locks on the door.
"No, nobody knows where you are. Why, did something happen? Do you need someone to pick you up from where you're at?"
Good, so Gilbert was the only one he'd told. Hopefully, things would stay that way. Ivan had quite hoped to be able to get another drink with Alfred, and the last thing he wanted was his work interfering. "Nyet, that won't be necessary, Toris. But I would like to have the tires on my limousine changed; the black one, not the white one. And a bottle of vodka waiting in my room." Sure he had just guzzled about a gallon of the Russian water a few minutes ago, but it would be nice to have some that didn't taste so much like it came from a fish tank.
"Of course, boss."
Ivan flipped his phone closed and pushed it back down into his pocket, allowing his leather clad fingers to ghost over the metal of his gun once more. It was becoming something of a habit lately. Having a weapon on hand at all times was conduit to a peace of mind, especially when your enemies consisted of all of Russia and parts of three other countries. It was hard work being a part of the Russian Bratva.
oOxoxOo
Alfred collapsed heavily onto the lumpy mattress; the metal springs digging into his back through the material. He groaned and rolled over onto his side. No matter how hard he tried, the American just couldn't get those amethyst eyes out of his head. He wanted nothing more than to call the silver-haired man back right that instant! But that would probably be a little weird. Therefore, Alfred did the best he could to restrain himself. Instead, he flicked on the TV and tried to let his mind go numb as he listened to the reporter blather on in Russian about murders and riots, communist coups and reports of witnesses spotting Stalin's ghost in the subways. It only served to depress the already downcast officer, rubbing it in his face that he couldn't go out and fix the world's problems all on his own.
He pulled out his phone and held down the speed dial, then confirmed that he would, in fact, like to accept the charges for the long distance call. Alfred wasn't exactly made of money, his apartment was a dead give away for that fact, so he simply prayed that the other would pick up.
"Hello?" a soft voice answered.
Alfred's face instantly lit up in a wide grin. "Mattie!" he chirped, "Man, I was beginning to think you weren't gonna answer!"
"Al? Shouldn't you be asleep right now?"
"Aw, come on, Mattie. Is it really that annoying to have a conversation with your big bro?" God, it was nice to be able to speak English again for a change.
"You know I didn't mean it like that, you Russian hoser," the other chuckled lightly. "So how's it like over there? Catching a lot of bad guys lately? You're not turning into a communist, are you?"
It was Alfred's turn to laugh. "Of course I'm not turning into a communist! I'm still an American through and through! And the day I don't catch at least one criminal will be the day Russia actually reaches temperatures over zero degrees. This place is worse than Detroit with all the murders and gun crime."
"Wow. Now you're making me regret letting you leave. Try not to get hurt, kay? You know me and Arthur worry about you."
"Yeah, I know," Alfred smiled, fiddling with his shoelaces. He'd forgotten to take off his boots. "Speaking of the old guy, is he over there?"
"No, he's probably with Francis right now. Ever since you left, they've been spending a lot of time together."
"Ew, that's sorta creepy. I thought he hated that pedo Frenchy."
"Same here, but I guess he's gotten better. He must have for Arthur to agree to date him."
"Yeah, must've," Alfred muttered, now onto his socks. It was a lot more difficult to take the damn things off without using your hands, especially when the world is still spinning around you. "Well, I'll try not to get killed for ya."
"You'd better do a little more than try."
"Yeah, yeah. I gotta hit the hay. Nice chattin' with ya, Mattie. Tell Artie I think his boyfriend's a real catch, and imply the sarcasm this time, will ya?"
"Alright. Night Al."
Alfred flipped his phone closed and pulled his eyes up to the water stained ceiling. As his eyes slipped closed, he couldn't help but allow his mind to wander back to Ivan. God, he hoped that phone number meant what he thought it meant.
I really hope you all enjoyed this first chapter. If you could, please review. I would love that very much.