A/N: A Prussia/Hungary story modeled (very loosely) after the tale of Bonnie and Clyde, set sometime in the early 1900s.

Obviously, the song to listen to is "All the Stars in Texas" by Ludo.

Please review.

Takin' Names

There's this thing called the law. People don't like it very much when the law gets broken. They get angry, but mostly they get scared.

There's this thing called the police. They make sure that the law doesn't get broken, so that no one has to get scared.

Then there's us. We like to break the law. We thrive on it. We thrive on the fear it instills in people.

We're what you call bandits. Robbers. Murderers. Thieves.

We like to call ourselves desperadoes.

It was probably Alfred's idea. His brother had gone up north, and he was left all lonesome on his ranch. His cousin from over the pond came to live with him, but he didn't really have the constitution for life in the west. He got sick, and Alfred had to sell near all his cattle just to pay for the doctors and whatnot.

Pretty soon, I and my husband Roderich, a gentle thing, let them come and live with us. It was about a week after that when Roderich's cousin Gilbert came to stay with us, and a week after that when we sort of fell in love. It was a strange thing—I had surely loved Roderich, but it had been a strained marriage, arranged mostly by convenience and our families. What Gilbert and I had was passionate.

However, I hated to keep a secret as big as this from Roderich, who I still cared for greatly. What I wanted was to run away with Gilbert. Surely we could survive on our own, and if anything went wrong, he had a brother who we could go to for help.

Al, however, found out about our plans and told us one of his own in return. He was running out of options for what to do with Arthur, and was on the very last vestiges of hope when he'd had an idea. He'd heard about all the major bank robberies happening here out west, and thought that if he could do something like that, maybe he could buy back his ranch and settle there comfortably.

Unfortunately, there was no guarantee that he could pull something like that off. Besides, he needed to look after Arthur, in case his condition got any worse.

To Alfred, we were his last chance. Gilbert told Alfred that one of his friends had gone to school with Arthur a while back, and that he could probably look after him. This guy though, he lived in France, and it was up to Alfred if he wanted to send his cousin that far away.

"The air over there is like Britain, right?"

"Same continent, sweetie," I told him. His normal happy-go-lucky attitude seemed faded as he agreed that that sounded like a good course of action.

"What are we gonna do once he's there?" Gilbert asked. I ruffled his hair, perhaps a little too roughly, as he winced when I removed my hand.

"We, my dear," I said. "We're gonna become bank robbers."

The twinkle in his eye was just too cute.

For a while, it was just the three of us. It got to be that Alfred felt a little awkward at times, and he usually went off on his own for a while. Arthur had gotten on that ship to France not a month ago, and Matthew had been gone way before that. I felt sorry for that boy, and I did what I could to make him feel better when he was with us. Since I was by far the least conspicuous, I would usually be the one to go to the post and collect the mail. So far, there had not been any word from Arthur himself, but Gilbert's friend (Francis, I think his name was) had sent word that the Brit had arrived safely and was being cared for by a really famous doctor.

Alfred had smiled at that news, but he smiled even more when I gave him an envelope and postage stamp—20 cents for the both of them, but it was worth it.

Other than that letter, there had only been one other—from Roderich, of all people. It had been addressed to me, and so I had opened it without telling the others. The contents made me smile just as much as Alfred had.

Roderich bore no ill feelings (no more than usual, at least; he had never really liked his cousin) and he hoped that I was doing well. He wrote that he had moved back to his homeland, for he had never really enjoyed the Texas landscape. He was practicing music, which I knew he had always loved more than he loved me, and had moved in with his old friend and his young sister.

I felt no real need to show the letter to anyone else, but rather than burn it in the fire while Gilbert slept (for this was one night where Alfred was not with us), I tucked it into a secret pocket. I was allowed to have some remembrance of my old husband, surely.

Over the first month, we didn't really do anything major. We simply enjoyed the freedom of the deep west, sleeping under the stars, eating beans from cans, singing songs loudly and badly. Alfred came and went as he pleased, but Gilbert and I stayed together always.

Gradually, we began to steal. Simple things at first; when we rode into a town, we would smuggle goods out of the general store or snatch coin persons from those who jangled them a little too loudly.

We wanted to get our name out first. We wanted this to be fun.

There were some towns that were big, and most that were small. The world was changing around us, and there were more and more cars driving by us on our horses.

"We got to get one of those," Gilbert pointed out.

"They look hard to drive," I said.

"Nah," Alfred put in. "I used to borrow my neighbor's when I took Artie into town. They're real easy."

We were planning our first major break—a full blown bank robbery—when we realized we might need more people, more equipment. Luckily, Gilbert had lots of friends.

"This guy, he's a major bandit. Spanish, strong, and never gets caught. He's almost as awesome as me," Gilbert added, which was a really big compliment. "His name's Antonio. Got a partner… hot-tempered kid; I can't remember his name. Anyway, this kid's brother works with my brother. I trust them."

"How can we get a hold of them?" Alfred asked, and I nodded.

"Can we get them by next week?"

"Oh, totally. I'm sure he'll be around somewhere; he sticks to Texas, likes the language. Reminds him of home, I think he said once. Anyways, if they're anywhere near here, we'll know. I'm sure he's seen the pictures of us; I bet he's trying to get a hold of us right now."

Sure enough, we met up with the mysterious Antonio and his partner, whose name was Lovino, just days after that. It turns out that Antonio was Spanish, and strong, and rather good at what he did. I liked him immediately, and grew even more amused as I noticed Gilbert's obvious jealousy.

But for all that Antonio was sweet and handsome, Lovino was not. He was cute, sure, but he was so young. It made me a little unsure of why he was here, but when I had asked him about it, he had sneered at me.

"What's a woman doing out west?" He asked, disdain seeping through his voice. I frowned at him but didn't say anything more.

"Sorry about Lovino," Antonio said. "He's got a little temper on him, always gets us in trouble when we head into towns."

"Well, you're too much of an idiot to do anything! What am I supposed to do when the police are looking at us suspiciously and you're flaunting all the money we got?"

My ears pricked up. "Speaking of money," I started. "We want to pull a job, on a bank, sometime soon. Do you think you could help us out?"

Antonio smiled, all charm, and agreed wholeheartedly. Lovino looked far less pleased, but even he seemed to think twice before going against at least three people who wanted to rob a bank, and his boss.

"Have you ever pulled a bank robbery before?" Alfred asked, looking excited.

"Well, no," Antonio said. "I'm more your standard train robber than anything like that. But… I do know some people who are… very skilled in that area."

Lovino groaned. "Oh, no. You promised me we wouldn't work with them again; they almost got you killed!"

"Well, we probably won't need them for the job itself, but it would definitely help to get their opinion on a few things."

"Who is this we're talking about?" Gilbert asked.

"A man I worked with on this job once. He was muy loud, but he knew to keep quiet on important stuff, like his name. He only told me to call him Denmark. His gang was notorious for bank robberies." He sighed. "I haven't heard his name in a while, though… I bet he's long dropped off the map by now."

"Boss, didn't you say there were these two guys who dropped off the job before we signed on? Got out before they got hurt?"

"You know, you're right Lovino, I do remember hearing something about that. What were their names? The grande one and his amigo… Tino? That was it, si?"

"Yeah, Tino and Berwald. I think I remember them saying something about heading down to Christi."

"That's right near here!" I said. "Only a half a day's ride!"

"Do you think they could give us some tips?" Alfred asked.

"Oh, definitely. They were good; Denmark was a little upset about losing them."

"Great," I said, standing up and patting off dust off of the seat of my pants. "Sounds like we have some men to recruit."

Tino, the littler one, slams the door on us the second he sees Antonio. We had ridden to the small ranch the two of them owned in less time than I had expected, six hours, and were expecting something like a welcome at the very least.

"Hey!" Gilbert said, pounding on the door jamb. A second later, the door opens again, and we are eclipsed by a huge shadow. This guy is big, and really scary-looking, and it's kind of hard to see someone who looks as delicate as Tino being friends with someone like this.

Then I look down and see Tino brandishing a machine gun, the kind those big gangsters up north use. We all take a step back slowly.

"Hey, listen," I say. "We're not trying to drag you back, we just want to talk."

Tino lowers the machine gun, but Berwald still has an angry look on his face, though I'm beginning to believe that may be a permanent feature.

"Okay, you can come inside," Tino says. He has a lilting accent that I've heard before. He pushes Berwald aside and holds the door open for all of us. We cram into the small cottage.

"What is it you want from us, now?" Tino asks once we are settled into their living area, which consists of two couches and a long table. He sets down a pitcher of water and a few ceramic cups and we hastily scramble for them. It had been a long ride, after all.

"Y' w'nt t' r'b a b'nk?" Berwald, the big guy asks. The others stare at him blankly, but I could decipher what he had asked.

"Yeah. Heard it's much easier than train-jacking." I said.

"Y' j'st g't t' 'void the p'lice."

"Obviously," Lovino scoffed, and Antonio nudged him.

"You only have horses?" Tino asked.

"My husband had a car, but we left it when I left him," I said. It was probably rusting in some junkyard now.

"We have an old one out back you can fix up," Tino offered. "You're gonna need some big guns too."

We looked at each other. Antonio and Lovino both had pistols, and Alfred had the rifle he had brought with him from the ranch, but that was it. I had grown up around men with guns, sure, but that didn't mean I had good aim.

"We're gonna have to use them?" Alfred asked. "I don't want to kill nobody."

"All those small bankers have been dead for years; they're just up there waiting for someone to pull the trigger."

"If it's gonna get us money, guys…" I said, still unsure.

"You could go for stealth, but I don't recommend it. You'd have to use explosives—dynamite and whatnot—and I'm not handin' that out for free," Tino said.

"Es bueno, mi amigos. I've heard the stick-em-up is much easier." Antonio said. Lovino looked fairly excited at the prospect of shooting someone.

"Now that that's settled, how about we look at the car?" Alfred said.

"R'ght th's w'y," Berwald said, motioning towards a back door.

I was designated to be the driver. Alfred turned out to be a horrible driver, and Gilbert wasn't too much better. Antonio had looked skeptically at the vehicle and labeled it unsafe, and had forbidden Lovino from going two steps near it.

Berwald and Tino alternately taught me the ropes. It did turn out to be rather easy, and what thrilled me the most was going fast—very fast. Tino seemed to share my thrill for speed, but Berwald taught me perhaps the most important lesson—avoiding obstacles.

"The getaway is the most important part," Tino said. "Money won't do you much good if you're dead."

I wasn't too keen on shooting people, but once we had the money I was pretty sure I'd run down anything. Berwald taught me how to go fast but still avoid potholes that could overturn the automobile—and bring our whole operation down in flames.

Two weeks later, and we were ready.

Tino and Berwald supplied us with the guns and a few pails of gasoline—enough to get us safely there and away. They bid us a fond goodbye—for all that they were hardened ex-criminals, they were still very sweet. I promised them that we would visit soon.

Antonio and Lovino had decided that they weren't coming with us either. Lovino had caught word of a huge load of money coming in by train only a day's ride from Christi, and we weren't gonna pressure them into something they weren't used to. I knew we were gonna meet up again, so I didn't bother saying a great big goodbye to them—just a little wave and then they were riding off.

Alfred, Gilbert and I loaded the car, and piled into it. Finally, we headed off for our magnum opus.

When we got to the bank, the one we had marked as our target all those weeks ago, we pulled up front. We were all buzzing with excitement.

"Stay here, Elizabeta," Alfred said. Gilbert nodded and leaned over.

"Start the car when we leave," he ordered. "Keep your foot on the gas, now."

Alfred was out the door and heading for the front, and so Gilbert popped his door open. He turned back to me, suddenly.

"Give me a kiss, pretty thing."

I smirked and did as I was asked.

Everything went according to plan. As I sped down the desert road, towards my old home, Alfred recounted the whole story to me.

"And then I pulled out the gun and stuck it in his face, and his eyes got all wide, and then Gilbert was like 'Clean those drawers good, big boy.'" He hooted with laughter.

"Oh man, it was awesome," Gilbert cried. He shook the bag full of bank slips and grinned at me. I sneaked a glance at him and grinned back.

"Where we headed now?" Alfred asked.

"Roderich's house," I said. "I figure no one will look for us there."

"Won't Roddy be there?" Gilbert asked.

"Nah," I said, suddenly remembering that Gilbert didn't know about Roderich. "He went back to his old country."

"Ah," Gilbert said, thankfully not asking me how I knew that.

When I pulled up to the property, I noticed an unfamiliar black car parked near the porch. Gilbert and Alfred's hands both flew to their guns, but suddenly Alfred let out a whoop.

"It's Artie! Look, he's on the porch right there!" Alfred exclaimed as he leapt from the car and ran towards the man.

I did indeed recognize the Brit and smiled when I saw him, in all his familiar eye-browed glory, flip the approaching Alfred an unkind gesture before reluctantly accepting a huge hug.

"Isn't that cute?" I cooed. I paused when I felt Gilbert staring at me.

"You don't want that?" He asked, slowly. "A home, a family?"

I shook my head, and he looked at me curiously.

"Baby," I said. "Let's hit 'em one more time."

He grins at me, wickedly, and slams his hand down onto the dashboard.

There's nothing but open road before us, and I'm in love.

I've never felt more alive.