The screen turned on with a crackle, and a bit of illumination was given to the room. Berwald could now make out the walls of his prison. Lucky him. There was not much to see, the walls were of metal (iron, he was guessing), a floor of concrete, and the television screen set into the wall opposite him. The screen, besides the chair he was bound to with duct tape, was the only other addition to the otherwise bare room. The picture that the television presented was old, fuzzy with static in some places, and black and white. However, the not-so-fabulous picture did not prevent Berwald from seeing what he needed to. Mikael's face.
Mikael's face with a sneer plastered across it like some sick version of a smile had been twisted and stretched until it was large enough. In this case, 'large enough' was too large, and the mere sight of the blond man and his too-big smile was enough to start Berwald's blood in a slow simmer. "Why hel-lo, Berwald!" The grinning mouth said, "You seem to have suffered a bit of a downfall since the last time I saw you." Mikael paused for effect, and seemed to be encouraged by Berwald's stony silence. The smile grew even bigger, if possible, and he said, "Ready to join me yet?"
Berwald's face twisted into an expression of contempt and he growled out, "N'ver."
At this, the blond on the screen's smile became a little more forced, a little more feral. His eyes were hard as chips of glass now, and as he leaned back from the camera he traded in his smile for a small frown. "Still at that, are we?" Mikael asked. And then the smile returned, and it was somehow worse than before, and Berwald felt a small twinge of fear for whatever was coming next.
Mikael mad a gesture to somebody off screen, and after a few moments, his face was replaced by a much more familiar one. A face that Berwald knew had large, purple pools of eyes, and pale creamy skin, and hair so blond it was almost flaxen. And, though they were covered by what looked to be a rough cloth gag, Berwald knew that there were two small, round lips as well. "T'no!" He finally said, after slogging his way through his shock and confusion. But Tino's black-and-white face begged him not to say anything more, and Berwald stopped the string of Swedish obscenities that had been about to burst from his lips, and instead continued to sit there like a statue in his cold metal room. Staying as still as stone was nothing new for the Swede, really.
And then Mikael's face was back on screen and Berwald was missing Tino's already. "Ah, so you remember him?" Mikael asked hypothetically, "Well, it seems I've got a bit of a bargaining chip, doesn't it?" There was the baring of the teeth again, and the glass-hard eyes. "Still going to refuse, Berry?" He paused and glanced off screen, most likely at a Tino, who, if Berwald knew him, would be trying to decide between being scared out of his pants and somehow fighting his way out. Looking back at the screen, Mikael said, "I mean, I can't guarantee what'll happen to Tino here if you don't. I'll give you twenty-four hours before my friend, Mister Russia, comes and gets your answer. Farvel." With that, the screen feed blinked off with a slight buzzing sound and Berwald was left with a blindingly blue screen for company, until somebody outside hit a button that turned off the screen.
And then Berwald was in the darkness again.
This time though, he was glad to be in the dark, as it let him think without distractions. Besides the chafing on the metal chair on his skin, of course, and various other discomforts. So, twenty-four hours, He thought. Berwald did not even know where he was being held, and even if he did, he did not know where Tino was, so simply knocking out "Russia" (aka Ivan Braginski) and running was not an option. So he would have to say that he would join forces with Mikael, to be taken to Tino, and well, he would improvise from there. He knew that they had not disposed of the explosive that he had been carrying when he had been captured, because they would attract too much attention. Detonating that amount of explosives tended to do that.
Most likely, the explosive were still nearby, and Berwald still had a few bits of explosives on him. He had managed to conceal bits and pieces of explosive putty around his body before he had been searched. Granted, sticking explosives in your ear (and other places) was a bit risky, but what had to be done had to be done.
Berwald was not exactly sure how the infamous "Agent Finland" had allowed himself to be captured, but he was guessing that it had been a ploy on Tino's naiveté. The small-framed Finnish man was simply too trusting, which was also one of the things Berwald loved about him. Tino had been the first to approach "Agent Sweden" in training camp, with his bright smile and constant chatter. The diminutive sniper had completely disarmed Berwald, the usually heavily equipped demolitionist. They had started living together later that year, after all the agents had been recruited and trained, before being sent back home to await orders.
And three years later the U.N. had decided to disband the group created to assist Interpol in international cases. Now, scarcely eight months after the group known simply as "The World", it was already falling apart. Left to their own devices, the agents had become bored. Specifically, "Denmark" had decided that he was not making enough money tending bars in Copenhagen, and had taken to robbing banks. He had started off small, community banks in Denmark and Norway, before enlisting the help of Ivan, who had been his drinking buddy when the World was still together. And with Ivan had come "Estonia", "Lithuania", "Latvia", and "Belarus". Eduard had provided the smarts, hacking into computer systems and gathering information. Raivis the baby face did physical reconnaissance, and Toris did whatever was asked of him. Belarus mostly just sharpened her knives. "Poland", who in the interest of keeping Toris out of prison, elected to help as well, and provided the disguises and forged documents. Mikael and Ivan had simply sat on top of things, dirtying their hands if they decided to, but almost always allowing somebody else to do the dirty work.
After a string of successful heists ranging all across Europe, from Iceland to Bulgaria, Mikael had decided that he needed more help with his diversions if he was ever going to break the big banks. He needed explosives, he decided, and so he came to Berwald, who had been the group's expert on "blowing shit up", as Mikael had so eloquently put it. And then, when he had realized that Tino came as part of the package, he had grown even more excited, genuinely smiling for once. He had been fully expecting them to enlist automatically, join his band of bank robbers.
Needless to say, they had refused. They had not turned them in, out of respect for their former teammates, but now that they had been kidnapped, Berwald had made up his mind to do something much, much worse than simply turn them in. The mere thought of Tino's slightly bruised face and Mikael's wolfish smirk made his blood start smoldering. If anything had happened to Tino, he did not know what he would do. But he could guarantee without a doubt that it would not be pretty.
Berwald must have fallen asleep at some point, because the next thing he knew he was being tapped not-so-gently in the ribs with a length of lead pipe, Russia's weapon of choice for some reason Berwald did not want to think about. A sickly sweet smile greeted Berwald, illuminated by the dull glow of an electric lantern held by Lithuania. "Time to get up Berwald, da?" A childish sing-song voice asked in Russian accented English. When Berwald did not reply, he was prodded again in the ribs, and forced himself to nod, still going over his plan in his head. Reminding himself not to jump the gun, he simply went along with the rough movements he was subjected to by the Russian. The lantern was set down with a soft clank by Toris, and he and Eduard took the Swede's glasses and began to blindfold him. They were gentler, but there was a calculated coldness to their movements, they felt as if they could snap at any moment. A harsh-smelling rag was held to Berwald's nose and mouth, and he tensed up, instinct telling him to run; his arms fought against the duct tape hold his wrists together, and then his brain succumbed to the chloroform and everything went black.
Waking up in a well-lit room was a shock, as well as being disorienting, for Berwald, and his eyes stung in the glare after spending who-knows-how-long locked up in the dark. The room was well furnished, no doubt a result of the thefts, but the walls were still unfinished concrete behind the rich wall hangings. And, if Berwald saw correctly with his blurry vision, there was even a larger than life portrait of Mikael handing on one wall.
Turning his blank stare to the shapes in front of him, Berwald made out a messy mop of blond hair, a red shirt, and black pants. There was another person too, standing next to Mikael, though Berwald could not quite make them out because of his nearsightedness. All he could determine was that the person was slender and had butter-colored hair. "So, finally decided to come to the party, eh?" Denmark drawled, wrapping a large hand around the butter-haired person's waist and pulling them close. When Berwald did not respond at first, Mikael frowned, "Well? What'sa matter? Answer, dammit!" He tightened his grasp on the waist.
"Glasses." Berwald rumbled out, attempting to gesture broadly at the entire area, before discovering that his hands were still tied together, though this time with a length of cord. Ignoring the failed gesture, Mikael motioned to something behind Berwald, and his glasses were placed over his eyes gently by Raivis. The young blond man was sporting a fresh bruise above one eye, and as his vision cleared up, Berwald could see the remainders of other bruises elsewhere on his body. Now that he could see clearly, he noted with some interest that the cream colored hair belonged to Norway, who he had thought hated Denmark, or at least vehemently disliked the obnoxious man. But, Berwald supposed, a lot could change in a few months.
Mikael was getting impatient, "All right, you've got your glasses, four-eyes!" He snapped, and Berwald could see a kind of fervor in his eyes, making them seem to glow. "What's your answer?"
Berwald simply nodded. All he wanted was to get Tino back, and he would deal with what came next. He could feel the putty explosive practically itching to be used. All it would take was a short fuse, torn from one of his seams, a quick flick of his lighter, a throw, and he and Tino would be home free. "Wh're's T'no?" Berwald asked, craning he neck slightly, trying to figure out where you could hide such a radiant smile in the dull room.
At this, Mikael's expression, which had unfurled into an enormous smile at Berwald's acceptance, folded in on itself a small amount. "Oh, he's fine, don't worry." An expression of enlightenment, as if he had just had the greatest idea in the world, crossed Denmark's face, and he said with a smirk, "You'll get to see him after the first job you do. In the meantime, let's get you out of that chair." Mikael snapped his fingers in an all-too-clichéd way, and Raivis stepped forward again, this time with a knife, and cut the bonds on Berwald's hands and feet. Standing up a bit uncertainly, as if he was not sure his legs could hold him up, Sweden flexed his arms and shoulders, shook out his legs, and rolled his stiff neck.
"Need t'see T'no 'fore I work for y', D'nmark." Berwald said, now towering over the seated messy-haired blond.
"Fine, fine Berry. You can have your precious 'T'no' back…" It was a mark of how much Mikael wanted Berwald to work for him, because all the other time Berwald had spent with him, in both training and missions, he had proven to be an impatient man. But he had also proven to be a persistent one. He picked up a walkie-talkie from the table next to him, still without letting go of Norway's waist, and said into it, "Ivan, bring Finland out, we're gonna show Berry that his sweet little 'T'no' is safe-and-sound." A pause, and Berwald could hear a slight crackle, Russia responding. "Whaddayou mean you're not done with him yet? Ugh, never mind, tell me later. Just bring him out." The radio was set down with a clack on the wooden table. Several minutes passed, and Denmark pulled Norway onto his lap with a leer, murmuring into his ear. Norway sat impassively with an annoyed look on his face.
Berwald looked away with disgust, neither wanting nor needing to see any more. Then, a door swung open and Braginski marched through, Tino bound, gagged, and thrown over one of his broad shoulders. The sight sent rage slowly simmering through Berwald's veins, and he could feel the explosives acutely, waiting to be used. Tino was set down on the floor upright, and the ties on his legs were cut so that he could walk. He made a few faltering steps, but did not get the chance to take any more, because Berwald had crossed the distance in three long strides, swept him into a massive hug, and begun mumbling apologies into the top of his head. This time it was Mikael's turn to look away in disgust.
A few seconds of this were permitted to pass by Mikael before he barked out, "Okay, that's enough, you've seen him." He stood up himself and grabbed Tino's upper arm, no doubt to guide him back to the room where Ivan had previously been holding him. However, Tino had different thoughts on the matter, and as he was tugged forward by the taller man, he stepped forward and used the added momentum to add strength to the fist he sent crashing into Denmark's nose, which promptly started dripping blood. During the prolonged hugging session, Berwald had been sawing away at the cord holding Tino's wrists together, using a hidden razorblade he had had up his sleeve. True, he had had to disguise the motion as copping a feel, but Berwald had not exactly minded. And while the first four or so muttered phrases had indeed been apologies, the rest had been instructions for Tino to follow. Giving Mikael a bloody nose had been first on the list. Tino quickly tore off his gag and, sweeping the legs out from beneath Mikael, began to use it to choke the man. Despite his small stature, Tino was surprisingly strong, and Denmark was starting to struggle for breath. However, Mikael had been trained just as well as everybody else, and he was the quick to tuck his neck and to start throwing elbows in Tino's direction. Clinging onto the back of the larger man, Tino battered him with knees and bites, managing to draw blood in a few places.
Berwald felt a surge of pride that his partner was so fierce, but turned his attention to Russia, who had begum advancing across the floor casually, without hurry. Berwald launched himself into a run and tackled the slightly taller man, smashing him into the hard concrete floor. Jarring his head, Berwald slammed a fist across the Russian's face. Ivan began to counterattack, unceremoniously throwing punches, elbows, and whatever else he could manage. Kicks and knees were added into the mix, and the blows became more frenzied, losing any semblance of precision they had had previously. Now the two men were simply pummeling each other, hoping to cause damage somehow.
And then two sharp cracks rang out, piercing through the bloodlust thick in Berwald's mind. The cracks were followed by a soft tinkling, and Berwald turned his head, searching for the source of the sound. A fraction of a second later, he found it. Norway was holding a revolver, still pointed at Tino's back. Dual blossoms of red were staining the Finn's back, and that was about where Berwald lost it. He slugged Ivan in the face, grabbed his arm, twisted viciously, and smashed his fist into the elbow, snapping it like a twig. He sprinted the short distance between himself and Tino, ignoring the fact that he was dripping blood in places. Ignoring slightly strangled cries from Mikael, he picked Tino up and cradled him in his arms.
The small blond man must have been hit in one or both of his lungs, because blood was slowly dripping out the corner of his mouth. He coughed weakly, and a glob of blood. He twisted and spat it onto the floor, and Berwald could see the pain he was in written clear as day across his face. Dropping the ends of the cloth tie he had been using to choke Denmark with, he reached up to cup Berwald's large face in his hands, leaving faint red marks. "Anna suukko", he said faintly, still smiling through the red coating his lips and teeth. Berwald obliged, and bent his head to gently press his lips over Tino's. It tasted of blood, iron and salt.
When Berwald lifted his head away he murmured, "Jag älskar dig." For once not mangling his words. Tino got out a few more unintelligible syllables and then the light went out of his eyes. His head slumped back onto Berwald's arm, and his bloody smile slackened slightly.
And that was it, Tino was gone. Now, Berwald had nothing to do but wait. He did not wait long before three sharp cracks rang out from the direction of Russia, a gun fired by Raivis sent three slugs into Berwald's body, and he too slumped over, blood pooling around his body.
Neither Ivan nor Mikael had stopped smiling the entire time.
A/N: All right, so, here's some SuFin for you all, because this pairing is amazing. I know the ending was crappy, but to be honest, the entire idea for this fic came from me wanting to write a death scene. I know, I'm a terrible person. I may or may not write more on this idea of "secret agent nations", but we'll see. If I can get some good ideas, then most likely I will. Also, I think that I cleaned the fic up a little bit, but if you find any more spelling or grammar errors, please tell me in either a review or private message. Also, I apologize if the foreign languages in here are horribly terribly wrong, any more correct translations would be welcome.
Anna suukko = Give me a kiss, in Finnish
Jag älskar dig = I love you, in Swedish