"Dammit Alfred, I told you to be more careful," Arthur hissed as his American companion fumbled with the doorknob, giving away their location. "They'll definitely find us now," he continued, pulling Alfred further back into the large closet.
"If you'd shut up for five seconds we wouldn't be in this situation anyways," Alfred muttered, looking around for a possible way to escape. This was difficult, considering the only illumination in the closet came from the crack in the door. "Why did you choose a closet to hide in, anyway? It's so easy to get trapped in these things," Alfred grabbed the edge of a shelf, nearly tripping over the uneven floor, and a small opening appeared in the ceiling.
"Well isn't that convenient," Arthur whispered. "Give me a leg up."
Alfred was already on it, pushing the British man up and out of the closet and onto the roof of the old, abandoned building. Arthur reached down to pull Alfred up, just managing to lift him high enough to grab the edge of the opening, leaving Alfred to heave the rest of his body up and out. They ran and jumped off the roof, landing solidly on the ground and making a break for shelter in the Russian forest.
A shot from behind Alfred and Arthur made them flinch; turning around to see at least three people chasing after them with some sort of small gun that seemed unlikely to be able to hit either of them at this range. Still, they both got their handguns out and ducked into the trees, trying to lose them. They had been ordered not to kill anyone, no matter the circumstances. Possibly one of their greatest challenges yet. Get in, get out, no killing.
Alfred sighed, his finger twitching as it touched the trigger. Arthur looked over at him.
"I know what you're thinking, and you can't," he panted, running hard to keep up with Alfred's long legs. "They said we can't kill anyone on this mission."
"I know," Alfred said sadly, jumping over a log and landing silently, "but they're chasing after us with guns and it would be nice if we could just kill them and be done with it."
Arthur rolled his eyes, looking back at their nosy pursuers. "Is that your solution to everything? Just killing your problems?"
"Well, yeah, actually," Alfred laughed as they lost the three people chasing them in the tangle of trees.
"Until we know we've lost them, I'm climbing this tree," Arthur announced, proceeding to scale said tree and leaving Alfred to stare up at him from the ground.
"Why?" Alfred called up to Arthur, climbing up after him with a curious look on his face.
"So if they follow us, they won't even know we're here," Arthur explained, finding a good branch to sit on. Alfred sat on the opposite branch, admiring the view.
"What happens if they see us?" Alfred asked, his legs dangling in the cold air.
"Then we might be fucked, but who knows, maybe they can't climb trees," Arthur said quietly, glaring at Alfred's swinging legs. "Stop that, movement could give us away."
Alfred stuck his tongue out at Arthur and stopped. "What kind of international spy can't climb a tree?" Alfred retaliated, smirking slightly.
"An overweight one," Arthur shot back, referencing Alfred's less-than-healthy eating habits. Alfred looked hurt, but quickly got over it, opting for a swift kick to Arthur's shin instead.
"Hey, we're supposed to be allies, here," Arthur protested, raising his arms in surrender and nearly falling off his branch. Alfred caught his arm.
"You're right, fighting could end up with both of us falling out of this tree. We'd be so dead," Alfred said, looking down at the ground far, far below them.
"Thanks for that," Arthur murmured.
"For what?" Alfred inquired, smiling when Arthur shot him a look that said, "Did you or did you not just save me?" Alfred shifted, "You're welcome, Artie."
Arthur sighed, "Don't call me that, you git."
Alfred laughed, grabbing the tree trunk for support. "So when can we get out of here? This mission has quickly become pointless."
Arthur shrugged and looked at his watch. "If those Russians haven't given up looking for us, I would be extremely surprised," he said, slipping off the branch and climbing back down the tree. Alfred followed, trusting Arthur. He was his partner after all. Making minimal noise, they ran in the general direction of a clearing, then used the teleportation device Yao had invented just a few years ago as an addition to the watch all agents wore to get back to the base in Warsaw.
"Beam me up, Scotty," Arthur mumbled as he hit the button on his watch.
(A/N: Yao hasn't fixed all of the bugs in the teleportation device, including the one that causes all objects within a ten foot radius of yourself to teleport with you to wherever you're going.)
Promptly upon their arrival at the base in Warsaw, Feliks came running towards them.
"What on earth have you two done to your clothes?" he asked in horror, brushing some pine needles off Alfred's shoulder. "Just look at the wrinkles," he continued, taking in Alfred and Arthur in turn to fully assess their uniforms.
"Feliks, honestly, we're spies, our clothes are going to get wrinkled," Arthur grumbled, surrendering to the fussy Polish man.
"I need you to take these off immediately so I can have them ironed," Feliks huffed, stepping back and frowning at the dirt smear on Alfred's chest. "You could have like, not rolled in filth, maybe."
"We aren't even that dirty," Alfred sighed, flicking a lingering pine needle off his shoulder and pulling one out of Arthur's hair, smiling as an eyebrow was raised at him. "What? It was bothering me."
"Alright, Feliks, we'll go change," Arthur said, dragging Alfred along with him to the laundry room where they could hopefully find something to wear. Knowing Feliks, there would be something.
The laundry room was an enormous room full of dryers, washers, and ironing tables as far as the eye could see. This is an international agency, after all, and Feliks insists all the agents look "fabulous" all the time. That would mean constant washing of their uniforms, leading Yao to come up with some special chemical to make the clothing more sturdy.
Alfred and Arthur were handed new uniforms in the appropriate size, replacing their various badges and sundry items from their pockets. They stripped quickly, Arthur straightening Alfred's collar, then walked out to report to them about their mission. A lift, several flights of stairs, and a secret passageway later, and they were at their destination. A blinking green light beckoned them in, the door sliding open as Alfred put his hand on the identification pad.
"Welcome, Agent Jones, Agent Kirkland," the machine acknowledged, letting them through the door and into the room beyond.
"So, how did it go?" Gilbert asked, clicking his pen on his desk and waiting expectantly.
"Well, we managed not to kill any of them, anyway," Alfred said, sitting in one of the chairs across from Gilbert.
"Good," Gilbert said happily, jotting something down on a sticky note.
"But we're pretty sure they're gonna be pissed off we got away," Arthur added, crossing his arms on his chest and sitting stiffly in his chair.
"Of course they will," Gilbert laughed. "Anyone would be frustrated that two spies infiltrated their system and got away. Unscathed, nonetheless."
"I wouldn't say unscathed," Alfred said, "I nearly broke my finger getting out of that closet."
"Smooth," Arthur smirked, thinking back to what they had found out about the Russian conspirators.
"Did you guys find out anything important?" Gilbert questioned, fiddling a misplaced piece of hair that fell in his face.
"Ivan isn't leading them," Alfred told him.
"They're definitely planning a mass attack, probably- no, definitely on the base in Moscow within the next couple of weeks. Massive casualties. From what I heard, they're more interested in decreasing our numbers than actually taking out the high-ranks," Arthur blurted as Gilbert jotted down notes.
"Danke, Agent Kirkland," Gilbert nodded, folding up his notes and sticking them in his chest pocket. "Your information will be very useful. As for you, Agent Jones," Gilbert continued, "at least you got Ivan in the clear. You both may leave; get some rest or something, would you?"
Alfred opened his mouth to protest but Arthur glared at him, taking him by his shirt and dragging him back out of the room. "He knows you are just as valuable as I am, he's just trying to mess with you," Arthur said as the door slid closed again and they made their way back down the secret passageway. "Don't let it get to you."
Alfred sighed, attempting to smooth down his unruly cow-lick. To his irritation, it sprung right back up no matter what he did with it. Arthur had the same problem with his eyebrows; he had tried everything short of shaving them off, fearing they would grow in even thicker than before.
"What's next?" Arthur asked Alfred, noticing the yawn that was stifled from the American.
"A nap," Alfred said, smiling at the incredulous look on Arthur's face.
"Really, Alfred? A nap?" Arthur shook his head, "You git," he murmured, laughing slightly.
"ALL HEROES MUST HAVE NAPS, ARTIE!" Alfred exclaimed loudly, startling his companion.
"Okay, Alfred. A nap it is, and don't call me that," Arthur sighed, not being able to believe how much of an idiot his partner was. Alfred smiled happily, stopping Feliks in the hallway to ask where the nearest and cheapest hotel could be found.
"I already have a room for you, at this address," Feliks said, handing Arthur a slip of paper. "Gilbert told me in advance you would have some down time," he explained. "Just tell the girl at the front desk that you love pink and purple ponies and she'll show you where you can crash."
"Dude, thanks a lot," Alfred said, examining the address to see if he knew where it was.
"Yes, thank you Feliks," Arthur said, leading Alfred to the parking garage and grabbing their designated keys from the long line of painstakingly organized wall hangers. Alfred slid zombie-like into the seat of their car as Arthur revved the engine. Sooner than Alfred could have imagined, they had reached their destination.
Arthur followed Feliks' instructions and they found themselves in what might have been considered the penthouse of the hotel, though it had no actual floor button in the lift. It was accessed only by a key, which the girl from the front desk wore around her neck. She opened the door for them, then left them to their own devices.
Alfred walked into the room and crashed on the bed farthest from the door, noticing the stuffed hamburger conveniently placed on his bed-side table.
"Look, Arthur," Alfred said sleepily, "a hamburger."
"I see it, Alfred. Go to bed so I can read," Arthur scanned the shelves of books that ran along the room. Clearly someone is very delusional about the amount of down time the spies in this agency have. Alfred settled in for his nap, finally falling silent.
A certain book caught Arthur's eye, though he had already read the entire collection. Several times, in fact. Arthur picked up The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, opening it carefully and sitting down on his own bed to read it.
"Iggy," came the whisper from Alfred's bed. Arthur sighed.
"What the bloody hell do you want?" Arthur asked, rolling his eyes.
"Umm... never mind," Alfred laughed and fell silent again.
"Wanker," Arthur muttered, getting lost in the world of Sherlock.
Alfred woke several hours later, noticing Arthur laying down with his book over his face. Smiling, Alfred removed the book and brushed the side of Arthur's face, sure that the intimate contact would startle him awake.
"What on Earth do you think you're doing?" Arthur mumbled, swatting away Alfred's hand.
"Waking you up," Alfred said, "we have to... well, we probably have to go do something now."
"Probably," Arthur sighed, sitting up and rubbing his eyes, yawning. "I seriously regret not getting the full two hours of sleep."
"You'll be fine," Alfred said, replacing the book in the bookshelf. Arthur nodded in agreement, splashing some cold water on his face in the bathroom.
Alfred's phone began to ring. He looked at the contact, a picture of Francis popping up on the screen. Sighing, Alfred pressed the phone to his ear. "Hello?"
"Bonjour, Agent Jones, could you hand the phone to Arthur?" Francis's voice came through the phone.
"Why, is something wrong?" Alfred asked, noticing Arthur in the bathroom worrying over his eyebrows.
"Non, just hand him the phone," Francis said impatiently, becoming irritated much more quickly than usual.
"Dude, Iggy, Francis wants to speak with you," Alfred said, interrupting Arthur staring at himself in the mirror with discontent.
"Don't call me that... that bloody frog, this better be something good," Arthur muttered, taking the phone from Alfred. "What do you want?"
"Ah, salut, Arthur. I just wanted to tell you, the Russians have your cell phone," Francis blurted.
"They what?!" Arthur exclaimed, "You can't be serious," he continued, patting his pockets and searching around the room.
"Oui, it seems that when Antonio tried to reach you earlier, one of them answered the phone and-" a string of curses came from Arthur's end of the line. Francis began to laugh. "Ohonhonhon, non, I am just joking, of course," Francis finished.
"Git," Arthur spat, ending the call and giving the phone back to Alfred. "Call my phone, would you?"
Alfred obliged, remaining silent as Arthur pillaged the room, throwing pillows and blankets everywhere. Eventually he found it resting on top of the stuffed hamburger Alfred had so kindly placed on Arthur's bed side table. He picked it up, shoving it back into his pocket.
"Just imagine the Russians getting their hands on it," Arthur said quietly, running a hand through his hair.
"That would be very bad," Alfred said, his stomach rumbling.
"Shall we eat?" Arthur asked, smoothing some hair away from his face and opening the door into the hallway. Alfred nodded his consent, following Arthur to the lift. The doors slid open noiselessly and the two agents stepped in.
"Lobby?" a voice came from behind them, startling them both as they hadn't noticed anyone in the lift when they had first entered it. They turned to see a short, blonde boy with an odd looking hat on. The boy smiled cheerfully as he noticed Arthur staring.
"You can't possibly be-" Arthur started, recognizing the boy at last.
"Peter Kirkland?" the boy asked with an even wider smile, the lift doors sliding closed.
"It is you, then," Arthur said in wonder, reaching a hand out to touch Peter as if he couldn't believe he was real.
"What's going on?" Alfred demanded, not used to going so long without being the center of attention. Arthur and Peter continued to ignore him, staring back at each other before Arthur processed the situation.
"But... how? Why are you here?" Arthur finally managed to ask.
"Simple. I wanted to be useful," Peter said stiffly, picking up a briefcase that had been sitting at his feet. "This contains important documents I was ordered to deliver to Ivan in Moscow," Peter continued. The lift opened with a bing and an electronic announcement of "lobby" as the three agents filed out, Alfred in the lead.
"Will we see you later?" Alfred asked Peter, trying to make out what the small embroidery on his hat said.
"Absolutely," Peter answered, swinging his briefcase as he walked away.
"Dude, who was that?" Alfred interrogated.
"That," Arthur said, "is my younger brother."