Characters: One-sided RussiaxCanada; (mutual?) AmericaxCanada; FrancexUK; GermanyxItaly; AustriaxHungary; various other characters (A free for all? O___O")
Rating: PG for now, but planned as a R
Warnings: Graphic, with a hint of torture in the pain and pleasure department to some very unwilling victum. Also 1 Hetalia character death, even though I had planned so much more...
Summary: [AU] The Thymes Society is an exclusive club that is named after the river it's main branch is located by. It is a society that has numerous members in high ranking positions, mostly in Europe, but some around the world. Yet there are a handful of people in this exclusive club that don't seem to belong; mysterious beings who come and go as if on a whim, sometimes never returning at all. This is the story of one such boy, with curly blonde hair and glasses to boot, a marksman of sorts, an assassin.
Author note - If there's any questions about this story please ask in the comments, I will not answer anything that gives away the storyplot though, I've already planned out EVERYTHING cause I wanna FINISH THIS 3
.,x.{Start}.x,.
"Maria? You there?" There was light static on the other side of the line, which is ridiculous since she was only a few floors below him.
"Hello?! Theo?!"
"Yes, yes, it's me. Just stay calm and do as I say, do you hear me?" There was a slightly frantic tone in her voice as she answered, "Stay calm, idiot! You just need to get the deed from Jamieson's office and bring it to me." More frantic talking and hushed movement, "No, there's no one else in the damned building! Get to it or you can consider the deal over!" The last part came out as a growl, really, the woman was too much to work with sometimes.
He heard the shuffling of paper of what he could only assume to be the woman flipping through various documents on Jamieson's desk. She was murmuring the title of each sheet that she spotted in a rushed breath, as if a mantra. Theo muttered along with her, "Come on...come on..." each one louder then the next with his growing impatience. His fingers twitching on the phone methodically.
Finally, a shaky, triumphant cry accompanied by the sound of quick footsteps. "I got it! I got it..." she hissed.
The clicking of an elevator button followed by nervous pacing was heard, the elevator door slid open.
"Ah." It was a small cry that slipped out, surprise more then horror.
"What happened?" Theo demanded, hearing her footsteps as she stepped into the elevator somewhat reluctantly. He went quiet, there was something wrong, but he didn't make a sound. At this point, Maria had mindlessly slipped here cell into her pocket.
"Hello," the built blond had greeted, cheerfully; sickly sweet.
"Hi," she replied, trying her best to hide any nervousness in her voice. She stood there as the doors closed, glancing over to the purple eyed man. He smiled as he bowed a little, curtly.
"Floor?" he asked after the door closed, seeing as how Maria didn't bend over to push a button.
"Oh! Uhh...14th floor," she felt herself flush with embarrassment.
"Really?" He asked her, reaching out to push the rounded button. It glowed green around the edges, splotchy at some parts from overuse. She thought the man silly for not pushing a button himself.
"Yea."
"Funny," the tall man drawled as he reached into his long, white trench-coat, "That's where I'm heading too."
Theo heard a scream before the other end of the line went silent. The elevator door opened with a familiar ping.
"SHIT," he cursed, slamming the phone back into it's receiver, there was definitely something wrong here. He looked around his room frantically, maybe he was just being paranoid, Maria was just playing a trick on him, yea.
There was a light knocking on the door and a muffled, "Sir? Mr. Audley, are you ok?" Theo jumped with a start, there shouldn't be anyone else in the building, "I'm..I'm fine." The door opened with a soft click as a young man with curly blond hair and clear blue eyes popped his head in; although his glasses refracted most of the light so Theo wasn't exactly sure if his eyes were clear or if they were stormy.
"I was worried since I heard you yelling down the hall," the boy stated as he came all the way in.
"I'm just a little irked," he breathed, "One of my deals just fell through."
"I'm sorry to hear that." The boy stepped closer, "Everyone has up and down days, there's sure to be an up day coming along, Mr. Audley."
"Sure." What a strange boy, who was he anyways...? "I'm sorry, I'm so rude, what did you say your name was again?"
The man watched, enraptured as no voice came out of the petite boy even though he was smiling so warmly as he talked; instead there was the sound of a gun and the feel of falling.
.,x.{~}.x,.
Ivan marched down the hall and turned his last corner as he slowly approached the target, hopefully the man hasn't gotten away yet. There was a soft thud on the other side of the open door, curiously, he pushed it open the rest of the way.
The sight he saw made him shiver.
The boy was smiling, and even though his eyes were sad, he could definitely see that there was lust and excitement hidden deep within it's stormy depths.
Matthew didn't move when the taller man entered, he lowered his arm slowly as he made to put his revolver back in it's holster-hidden at the small of his back. Ivan tapped him lightly on the shoulder and was a little surprised when his eyes were met with the front of the barrel.
The younger man had taken a step back, his hip making a resounding thump as it hit the side of the desk, "Oh! Ivan!"
There was a flash as Matthew quickly put his revolver* away, "I'm so sorry, I didn't know you were coming after the same target." He pushed his glasses back up as a small sigh escaped his mouth, he surveyed the scene. The Russian was the last person he wanted to run into on a job.
The purple eyed man smiled, "It's ok, I just wasn't fast enough today."
"I truly am sorry, Ivan. Chatwick..." The taller man wasn't really listening, he saw how the boy was trying to look away, but at the same time glancing at him nervously. Too fucking adorable. He took a step closer and grabbed the small hand that suddenly tried to push him away, bringing it up to his cold lips, "You know, I wish you wouldn't ignore me like that."
"Wha...what do you mean?" Matthew breathed, shuddering as Ivan nipped the junction between his palm and pulse.
"Our partnership," it sounded more like a statement rather then a proposition. Matthew pulled himself away, slowly, as if not wanting to alert a hungry carnivore of his movements.
"I work alone, Ivan. You know that."
"As do I, but I wouldn't mind ending this for you." The Canadian moved towards the door.
"I'm sorry, but I really can't do that," even though Matthew hadn't said it, the words "for you" hung in the air. The Russian fixed him with a look that chilled him, "I should go."
"I'll see you later then, Matthew." The blue eyed boy couldn't help but notice the slight Russian accent as he said it, it made the man sound even more monstrous then he actually was. Or maybe he had just showed Matthew a side that very few people lived to talk about.
Without another word, he slipped out of the room and broke into a quick trot, suddenly noticing the cold sweat breaking out all over him. They've known each other as early as when Francis had found him abandoned on the streets, yet he'd never get used to the Russian's presence.
.,x.{~}.x,.
Ivan heard the retreating figure and felt a feeling he could only describe as frustration boiling in his gut. He should've taken the boy away from the Frenchman when he had the chance all those years ago, instead he had stood by and done nothing when that stupid British man took him away overseas. Who knows what useless things that man's taught him, at least he didn't turn out like his useless brother.
He growled inwardly as he approached the target, noting that Matthew had made a perfect kill. There was very little blood dripping out of the gaping hole in the man's forehead, he looked inside; curiously, childlike. No bullet in sight, that meant the kill was important enough for Matthew to use an exploding bullet; probably custom made, seeing as how those weren't allowed anymore. The proof was in the pink jelly-like substance that splattered the back wall where the man had been standing before. A little defiance on Matthew's part, Arthur was too traditional to use something like that.
He remembers the stout man ranting (crying actually) to him a few years ago at a bar about how Matthew had his eye on a pretty little thing and how it was nothing like what Arthur had wanted him to use."He's becoming more and more like his brother everyday! Listening to me less and less on assignments (although he still gets it done efficiently), I don't know what to do anymore!" The Russian had, of course, offered to take him if he was too much to handle, but Arthur laughed as if at a funny joke and promptly threw up.
But he had bought it for him anyways.
.,x.{~}.x,.
He thanked the taxi driver as they pulled up to a rather old building next to the Thymes River. There were a few old men walking out of the building, the Society's weekly meeting must've just ended. As he stepped out and towards them, they gave him a curt bow and he returned the gesture. Those were his clients and Arthur had always told him to respect your patrons. Although you rarely got to meet the man who requested for you to kill someone.
He entered through the side door, noticing that someone had changed the flowers in the hallway to daffodils. Probably Feliks, seeing as how the other boy had always felt the place needed more colour. He headed deeper into the building, passing other people less and less as he approached the small office labeled 'CHATWICK'. Matthew knocked three times in fast procession as he turned knob and went in.
The office was as he remembered it from a few months ago, bright and white, devoid of all dirt.
"Sit down, Matthew," the man behind the desk motioned quickly as he returned to writing. Matthew took a few steps and chose to sit to the man's left.
A few minutes of silence later Chatwick finished writing with a sigh and looked up at him, "So?"
"Theo Audley's dead."
"Good, good...So the rest of the money will be sent to several of your international acco--"
"Ivan was there too."
"What?"
"Ivan Braginski was--" Chatwick cut him off, "I know who he is, what was he doing there?"
The Canadian looked at him, confused, "I thought I had stolen his job."
Chatwick shook his head, "I only told you about the job."
"Oh."
"Oh whatever," Chatwick brushed the topic off with a swipe of his hand, "It was probably just a coincidence." Matthew wasn't so sure, an uncomfortable coldness settled into the pits of his gut, as if he was punched.
"On to business then. Don't want to keep you here all night." Chatwick wheeled over on his revolving chair to an elegant oak shelf. Gliding his fingers along, he stopped at a thin, leather-bound book and pulled it out. He wheeled back, flipped to a blank page and began writing, "Ok, you know the deal."
"Agent 49, Matthew Williams. Target Theo Audley, executed April 15th, 20XX (2) by Magnum Revolver. Ammunition used is custom made by one Callaghan, Philips--"
"How is dear Callaghan?"
"He's doing fine, sir. Spent his 54th birthday with his family a few months ago. I think he mentioned that his son's taking over the family business."
"That's nice to hear," Chatwick did not look up once while saying this. "Anyways," the man whistled as he finished writing in Matthew's records, "You seem to be making quite a hefty sum here Matthew. Very good, very good." He rolled back to the shelf and placed the book back in it's little nook. "You know..."
Matthew had seen this conversation coming, "I don't need a partner, Mr. Chatwick."
The man across from him scoffed, "With the amount you make now, you need a partner to get better jobs with better pay, don't you think?"
"I like working alone though."
"You know that's not true," Chatwick idly fingered some papers on his desk. "All the agents grow tired of being alone sooner or later, look! Ivan's a good example, I'm glad you brought him up before, he's been working for us for over 14 years and he's finally given into the prospect of partnership." The man pulled his drawer open and shuffled through it a few seconds before pulling out an envelop with some messy scribbles on it. Chatwick opened it and pulled out the letter filled with equally messy writing.
"Ivan's been requesting for your partnership for a while now, Matthew! It'd be good to work with him, he's your senior."
Matthew looked at the package, his eyes scanning the message written on it with a bit of distaste. Even Ivan's writing was child-like, but everyone knew better. It was chilling.
"Ok, fine, what about your brother?"
"Alfred?"
"Why not? Lately he's been expressing his interest in teaming up. He's been hitching up with various teams lately." Matthew knew better then anyone else, his brother was more interested in the money then the idea.
"I'm not like him though."
Chatwick sighed in defeat and used his hand to prop up his head," Fine, fine. How about this, I have a new job for you, it'll be a joint effort with your previous mentors. If you like working with them then maybe you'll reconsider."
Now it was Matthew's turn to sigh, working with those two would be something alright. If he didn't stop their constant bickering, there'd be no work done.
"It's a little risky then what you're used to though."
"That's ok, I'll be careful."
"Good, good. Well, I won't fill you in too much about it. You're basically sneaking into a Italian syndicate as a new rookie who was under Francis' care at one point. I'll have Arthur and Francis take care of the details." Matthew shuddered, imagining them fighting over who is to actually take responsibility of him. "One of the syndicate's prospective heir's will be your target. You will be hired as his secretary, he seems to have particular tastes you see." Matthew nodded, understand too well what he meant. "Now the pay's higher too, seeing as how you'll be working with Arthur and Francis. Lets see here...$6 million right now and two separate payments of $8 million if you get both parts of the assignment done."
"Both parts?" Matthew looked at Chatwick, confusion painted across his features.
"The second part's for if you co-operate to help Arthur and Francis get their target."
.,x.{~}.x,.
Light streamed through his window back at his apartment in London, conveniently located a few minutes away from the Thymes Society building. He had bought the place for convinience. He had 4 other small apartments in different parts of the world for when he was working overseas. Those, he shared with different agents, depending on the area. Right now, this place was his own.
Matthew stretched and looked over at his clock, 11:43 AM, he mused. Fighting the urge to just go back to sleep for the next few days before his plane ride, he threw the blanket off him and swung his legs over the bed. With a sigh he flopped upright and trudged to his bathroom, throwing his clothes on the floor as he undressed and walked at the same time.
There was an annoying squeak as he turned his shower faucet on, he frowned. It needs to be fixed, he thought as he stepped into the cascading water. The warmth that flowed over him was comforting and he decided he might as well wash his hair as well. He picked up the shampoo bottle and squirted a generous amount out as he started lathering his hair.
The shampoo washed off him as fast as he was scrubbing his scalp, he watched it absentmindedly as his fingers tugged lighty at his hair.
Suddenly, he heard a click, someone had come in from the front door. He leaned his head back to wash off whatever soap suds were left in his hair and turned to face the washroom door. He grabbed a few shampoo bottles. The door opened. Matthew chucked a bottle as hard as he could.
"WHOA!" The figure through the steam ducked the bottle flying towards his face, "Nice throw Mattie."
"Alfred?!"
"Yup!"
"What are you doing here?!" Matthew chided as Alfred went over to pick up the shampoo bottle.
"Just dropping by, I just left the Society and heard you were leaving in a few days." He handed the shampoo bottle back to Matthew as he looked his younger brother over, "You've grown."
Matthew blushed, "Of course, Alfred, people do grow." He had to turn his back on the other boy as he put the shampoo bottle down, feeling even more nervous as he heard Alfred approach him. He yelped when he felt fingertips touch the small of his back, ghosting up slowly, then back down before it left him-experimenting.
The younger boy shivered, "What was that for...?" He asked as he turned back around to face a smiling Alfred.
"Just felt like it," Alfred shrugged, the stupidest look on his face. Matthew felt irritated as he picked up the bottle again and chucked it at Alfred, " Out! Out!"
Alfred laughed, "Ok! Ok! I'm out!" He left, snickering, as he closed the door behind him.
Matthew sighed as he looked for a towel, "Shit...ALFRED...!" He forgot to grab one when he came in.
.,x.{~}.x,.
It was times like this that Matthew wished that he had bought an apartment with separate rooms. He felt Alfred watching him the whole time he dressed, trying his best to ignore it as he clutched his towel tighter around his waist. Of course that made putting his underwear on sort of impossible.
The American laughed as he watched his brother struggle with putting his boxers on while holding his towel up. The boy was twisting every-which way as he tried to get his right leg through the flopping hole. There was a cry of triumph, which turned to anguish as his maple leaf boxers ripped almost in half.
Alfred snorted, in his effort to keep his laughter in; but as soon as Matthew glared at him in that way only he could, he burst out laughing. He trotted over and grabbed the towel away from Matthew's waist before the younger man could argue and held it up in front of him like a curtain, blocking out Matthew's nether-regions
"Thanks," Matthew mumbled, pouting, as he went to look for another pair of boxers, " Although I wish you did that before I destroyed my favorite pair of boxers."
"Sorry," Alfred snickered, grinning brightly. His stomach grumbled, "I don't suppose you have any food, do you?" He grinned even brighter, if that was possible.
.,x.{~}.x,.
His name was Marcus, Marcus something or other. He was the current head of the syndicate, an impressive 84 years old. No wonder Matthew was targeting one of the heirs, his client was probably one of them. The old man smiled at him as the familiar french man next to him introduced him.
"I have great expectations for you," The old man rasped, his voice sounding brittle. Matthew nodded, "I will do my best to help your nephew."
Marcus nodded, indicating that they could leave. Matthew and the taller blond headed out, "Don't cause too much trouble in your short stay." Both of them froze, Matthew looked back as his ex-mentor pulled him out.
The old man was smiling. He knew, he knew and didn't even give a damn.
.,x.{~}.x,.
The french man had him in a bear-like hug as soon as they stepped out the door, "Mon chere,oh how I missed you."
Francis was all over him, kissing him on the cheeks, tickling Matthew's face with his stubble as his strong arms nearly suffocated him. Matthew didn't think he'd stop either, until, he felt the cold steel of a semi-automatic pistol(3) slip past his neck and into the Frenchman's Adam's apple.
"Get off him you bloody sop!" Matthew sighed a little in relief as he was let go, the pistol slipping back, clinking into Authur's old holster. Matthew turned into Arthur's embrace, glad to see the man actually allowing physical contact. "You always catch me off guard, Arthur."
"You could pay attention, Matthew," the British scoffed as he patted (more like slapped) Matthew on the back as they pulled away. "If you'd break your habit of not paying attention to your surroundings, you'd be better then that idiot brother of yours."
"You shouldn't treat Alfred like a child all the time," Matthew mumbled under his breath. Francis laughed. Arthur didn't hear him, "What?" Matthew decided that it was safer to just shake his head. Arthur gave him a suspicious glance, "What's so funny?"
The Frenchman answered for him, "Nothing you need to worry about, mon amant," Arthur visibly reddened. Matthew was pretty sure he didn't know a word of French, but he probably caught on after being around Francis for so long, "You can sleep on the sofa for the next two weeks."
There was a horrified cry on Francis' part as Arthur turned his attention back to Matthew, "What are you doing here anyways?"
"I'm on an assignment," he stated, apparently Francis had forgotten to mention anything to Arthur from what Matthew could tell.
The blond man went silent as he glanced at Matt, worry and imminent pain etched on his face.
"I'm...the scap--"
Arthur seemed to catch on, his angry green eyes flashing with realization, "No!"
"I already took the job, Arthur! I can't just decline the offer-you taught me better then that!"
Matthew felt his head jerk sideways as a strong hand left it's mark on his face, the punch almost knocking him off balance. Shocked, he slowly turned back to look at Arthur, his expression one of utmost anger. Matthew didn't say anything, he knew that Arthur still had conflicted feelings for Alfred and himself, even though they were opposites they defied him in their own way. Matthew used what he learnt against the man, Alfred was just more blunt about it.
"You ungrateful piece of--!" This time, Francis had stepped in, slapping the British across the face before he could say anything more. Arthur didn't turn his face back around from the impact.
There were a few minutes of silence before there was another slap, one much lighter, his hand was visibly shaking. The green eyed man stomped off as Francis cradled the red palm print. They both watched until the man turned the corner, then Francis stepped over to Matthew to survey the bruising cheek.
Matthew winced a little as the older man turned his face this way and that, hushing him as he did. "Why'd you take the job, mon enfant?"
"I can do it," Matthew replied simply. Francis sighed.
"You're not foolish, but people underestimate your recklessness," he said, more to himself then to Matthew. "Please be careful," he adds, as he pats Canada on the head after letting go of the boy's face.
Matthew nods, "What are you going to do now?"
"Well," Francis scratched his head as he headed towards Arthur's general direction, "Someone's gotta stop him from killing Chatwick."
Matthew offers a grim smile to his ex-mentor as the tall man raced off down the hall.
.,x.{TBC}.x,.
(1) Matthew uses a Desert Eagle XIX, I thought it suited him. It's currently the newest and most powerful model from Magnum Research (Company), although he's customized it to fit his needs. His has a chrome white finish, and he calls it Kumajirou.
(2) I don't wanna just decide on a time frame so just put a year in yourselves 3"
(3) Arthurs semi-automatic, yea, he's an old sod who only uses old fashioned things. It's a miracle how well it works too, seeing as how it's been passed on from his mentor. he makes sure to clean it out every time he uses it and polishes it at least once every two weeks. It's called Soothsayer.
Btw, if anyone noticed the significance of the daffodils in the story, I applaud you =P
I'm not a arm's expert or anything either so if anyone knows better then me I would love it if you'd correct me and maybe give me a basic lesson on the difference between pistols and revolvers and rifles and what not xP