Title: His Hands
Author: riddledidiocy
Rating: T
Genre: Mystery/Tragedy with tiny bit of Romance (AU)
Disclaimer: Axis Powers Hetalia and its characters belong to Himaruya Hidekaz.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Fingers type away. With ten more consecutive taps, the fingers stop their waltz with the keyboard. They, instead, rendezvous with sticky sunshine-colored hair. They weren't too pleased, obviously, because they immediately free themselves from the tangled mess. Eyes look at the oil violating the fingers and do not fail to add disgust while doing so. An irritated sigh slips past Alfred's lips. Three straight days without a shower is hell, he thinks.
However, time ticks then tocks and ultimately does not wait for him. And Alfred needs all the time he can get. Therefore, silly trifles like taking baths need to be neglected. He looks down at his hands and tries to wind the unseen clock inside his head. About seventy-two hours ago, the same hands had touched a soft and pale face. Alfred leaned in closer to the owner of the face and placed his lips on the other's. This was not met with verbal approval. Insults (in British), curses, and fists were hurled directly at Alfred but the pale face was dusted with pink and Alfred knew that the contempt was not real.
Igraine Victoria Kirkland, Iggy—he'd sometimes call her (even when she replies with "Bloody American."), is in danger. In truth, he does not know her whereabouts. He and she were together during a casual stroll in the park and when he sent her back to her apartment. He had left and gone to his own home and fallen into a deep sleep. Instantly, he felt something quite off. It was after he had given Iggy's telephone a ring did he find out that his beloved was missing.
The authorities already tried to assure him that they'll place Ms. Kirkland's case on top, but in true Alfred F. Jones fashion, he had been adamant in following his own instinct and tried to do the investigating himself. (Even then, he was quite the techie. Oh, the thingamajigs he had that nobody knew of.)
Iggy, forever gone, is worse than hell, he thinks again.
His eyelids suddenly feel heavy. He wants to sleep, but he contemplates that he wants to search for Iggy more. He had obtained several clues from her home. Francis Bonnefoy, Iggy's perverted French suitor, Antonio Carriedo, Francis's Spanish friend who always wore a sunny smile, and Gilbert Beilschmidt, the German with the tendency to become very loud and very narcissistic—are his current suspects. Rose petals (a Francis signature)… tomato stains (Carriedo likes this fruit a wee bit too much)… tiny chick feathers (Gilbert has a strange liking to these creatures, although he hides it)… Alfred had seen all three. Now, he is willing to look for more.
Alfred feels he could not fight the incoming sleep any longer. He also feels something imminently wicked will occur. He gives in to his body's urges a bit and soon his vision fades to black.
The next time Alfred wakes up, his head feels pain. A little look to the left and to the right, Alfred realizes that the personal computer is not in front of his face anymore. His eyes' focus begins to become sharp and he straightens up in surprise when he sees the face of Francis Bonnefoy.
What?, Alfred tries to rationalize.
He looks around once more and sees Antonio and Gilbert. What all three of them had in connection… Dead, Alfred continues inside his head. His heart beats loud in an uneven tempo.
He swallows the thick and heavy saliva in his mouth. He gets up and does not know where he is. His legs move him to a somehow familiar place. What he sees troubles him more than anything in the world. Iggy, a bloody mess lies on a dirty floor. He is surprised that he is not surprised. His body grows cold.
He notices his hands for the first time. He sees not the oil from his sticky blond hair, instead, he finds dark and clotting blood.
"Am I in hell?" his voice breaks out.
A/N: Behold my fascination for secretlydark!America. This fic was used for a project last school year. So... yeap.