You Can't Leave Me

Rating: T

Summary: Horror: "You can never leave me, Fredka," He says sweetly, as he chuckles darkly. His eyes are dark, and my eyes widen. I had never made him this mad. Ivan was beyond mad. Ivan was ready for me to see our wedding bed. RusAme

BrooklynBabbii


Author Alert: HypnoticWords

Story alert/ Favorites: **silentbunny17, Ashcola17, HypnoticWords, vampy-chan321, kukuki, gemstarre, Lady Cooper, Arkxy-chan, summer164, EclipsedDevil13, emismpunk, SakuraDrops141, America96, telemarker, kukuki, XOTAKUNationXpro, HypnoticWords, Lazy Gaga, CookieBirdGirl, RomericaGO**

Reviewer(s)!: **Ashcola17, 91RedRoses, America96, TobiTheNinjaKitten, Wow, Animaegan , v5, HypnoticWords, JoyHeart, Lazy Gaga, KittywithCoffee, CookieBirdGirl, Ivan Braginski 0J0, emismpunk **

Ashcola17: Why? You want to know why? Blame my toaster. *derp* I shall leave you hanging again with this one too – NOW WHAT, FRENCHIE? :{D

RomericaGO: Now, you can never leave me, RomericaGO. I OWN you. Want a cookie laced with the tidings of my joy of this occasion? :3

91RedRoses: Creepy and awesome, yup and yup. Here you go, hun, thanks for reviewing the opening files! :D

America96: I'm glad you think so, America. Here is more to your capture. ^w^

TobiTheNinjaKitten: This is WTF is going on. Kinda. Here is some answers for your (probably) overwhelmed mind. :D

Wow: Define 'good', now define 'Batshit Crazy'. We can all see the fine line there. Ivan has crossed that line. Let's all pray for Al.

Animaegan: Darkness, blood and angst: sounds about right. I did keep up the work. Look at this update. :o

v5: D-don't beg m-me to do an-anything. I can't g-g-go against the begging! GAH! (Don't kill the keyboard, we need those. Have a tissue or towel.) This is going good/terrible places~

HypnoticWords: I will give you MORE. Here is more. I love pyscho!Ivan too!

JoyHeart: …Poor Alfred-san. May he survive, and retain most if not any of his sanity. (I'm glad I caught your interest!)

Lazy Gaga: Yes, yes it does. (…Three is the lucky charm? *shot*)

KittywithCoffee: This is why you don't give kittens coffee. XDD (Just messing with you, here's an update.)

CookieBirdGirl: SPOILER ALERT: The story ends with an ending that is not quite an ending. That's the best hint I can give this early into the story. c:

Ivan Braginski 0J0: Pfft, the evidence says otherwise. Read and weep, Vanya. We're coming for you…and no, we will become one with you, unless you give back Alfred! XDD

emismpunk: I think it's awesome, does that count? ^w^ Here is an update for you~


Wow…I honestly did not expect this from what I thought was the BELIEVED reason why I'm never allowed to write after I watch CSI shows. But this…you guys have utterly blown my mind. Thank you for doing so, you have at least 45 chapters to keep doing so.

Yes, 45 of murder/mystery and the beloved insanity that is RusAme. Good luck with keeping up with your sanity and out of Ivan's way. Thank you for wasting your time to read this lousy note. Have fun reading. \o/


Chapter Two:


February 7th, 20XX

Dear Awesome (Journal),

The weirdest thing happened today…I was utterly bored out of my fucking mind, and so I went to the

You'll never believe it. Ivan – you remember him, right? – yeah, he was there. I was like: 'Coincidence or Fate?' But then again, since I'm not into religion or whatever that came from, like Mattie, I'm going with coincidence. I mean, when I asked what he was doing, he said that he was ju

Which is totally normal….I guess.

Anyways, that was pretty much the highlight of my day. Not much happened, well not much compared to meeting Ivan a few days ago. That was the highlight of my WEEK. Well, for now, at least, unless something super cool happens. Like meeting Iv

Or like Tony finally coming out of my garage. I need my screwdrivers, man, that drippy faucet in the bathroom is driving me up a fucking wall at night. And my room is right next to the bathroom! But the damn al*

Which is totally

Alfred F. Jones

P.S. Mattie said he was leaving me tomorr

So, I guess that means I'll be alone for a while. I might not write then, or I may, it depends on


When Detective Kirkland reads the second entry of the old journal, he is almost drawn to how the pages are burnt. To the untrained eye, it may seem as if nothing was wrong. But to him, it just seemed like someone had carefully burned the pages to delete certain and any key information that Alfred may have written.

Information that could be used to track down the missing person's whereabouts and put his kidnapper to justice.

But then again, he may have been imagining things. He was known throughout his close friends and family as someone to take things too seriously and to look too far into small things. But then again once more, it was what made him such a great detective in his profession. It was always the little things and small measurements to hide something incriminating that he picked up on. It was these things that he looked for and used to solve a case.

Could it help him crack this case? He honestly didn't know. Pulling away with a sigh, Detective Kirkland ran a hand through his sandy blonde hair and glared at the journal. It had done nothing to him, but something about it bothered him.

The way the pages were burnt, how sometimes entries looked to be missing, the inner strings to the leather spine holding the pages altogether strained as if they had been stretched recently. The way the pages held no fingerprints but for Alfred's.

No one touched this journal but for Alfred, it seemed, then how to explain the possible missing pages and possible strategic burning? Had Alfred done this, himself? Or had someone made him – forced him to burn incriminating entries?

There was so much unsaid and yet too much told in each new entry. There were hints. The English Detective knew they were. There were pictures in the pages, little things that ranged from childish to something of a talented artist.

On this entry was a pair of roller blades, a dripping faucet pipe and an unusual smile with the caption: 'Attraction or caution?'**

Shaking a head at the jumbled clues, and missing pieces needed to make sense of them, the Detective nearly missed the sound of approaching footsteps to his desk.

"Anything?" Kirkland raised his head, and saw Officer and Detective Francis Bonnefoy. The Frenchman was known for being a flirt, outside of work, but underneath the uniform, he was a serious and very intelligent individual. He had helped Kirkland solve more than case. One case in particular was the abduction of one Chinese male.

Yao Wang, or Wang Yao, had been about to turn 26 at the time of the death. He was two months short of his birthday. He had been missing for about four years, but only found about two weeks prior to Alfred's entrance to the station. It had been upon nearly the third week; Yao was found – heavily assaulted and thoroughly beaten to death.

He was missing several fingers, half of his face was crushed in, and his entire chest cavity had been broken in. Literally, on his body, where his heart lay, was a gaping hole. But the hole wasn't life-threatening, severely painful, but not his cause of death. Yao died of overdose of opium. It was evident on the lingering residue on his face and the multiple puncture wounds in the veins of his arms.

His corpse was sent off to the morgue, after the detectives present had gone over it and compiled a report of what they could.

An inside view from the morticians, had given even Kirkland and Bonnefoy disgustful shudders. There was rock salt in his chest, possibly to induce pain and reduce the chance of proper healing. The skin over his wrists was bruised, most likely by strong leather, but his ankles were bloodied by something else. Something stronger.

Another thing found to be stuck to Yao was the tiny and somewhat unsubstantial amount of arsenic. The chemical in itself was unusual to be found. Where it was found was even stranger. It was lingering near Yao's hairline, far from the evident tan line above the male's brow, but it was a possible cause for the receding hairline.

One eye was glassed more so than the over, indicating blindness. A test found traces of bleach. Kirkland had already been disgusted, but then came the report saying that there heavy tears in Yao's anal passage. This indicated rape. Bonnefoy had had to leave the room for a long five minutes, before he grew too emotional.***

But what upset the whole station was despite how Yao had been found, there were no fingerprints. There was no evidence of anyone ever having been in the room but for Yao. The area was clean. Too clean, it was almost as if Yao had done the entire thing to himself. But the evidence was all but apparent in that none of the injuries were self-inflicted. Not even the bruising on Yao's wrists, and the bloody ankles.

They had had to close the case, even though it was only half-solved. Yao was found, he was dead, but they had no suspects. All they knew was what they had gathered from the last few people to have seen him. His adoptive brother, a South Korean male in college, who said he had been waiting on Yao to visit him; that the visit was years overdue.

There was also the grieving 'supposed' romantic attachment to a Japanese male a few streets near Yao's apartment loft. The man said he hadn't heard from Yao, after a horrible fight they had held for Yao's work ethnic and how he was wearing himself out and making himself sick. The man hadn't heard from the victim since, but when he tried to find him a few days later to apologize, he had come to a broken-in apartment and called authorities.

Kirkland looked up, snatching his mind back from the Yao Wang case. There couldn't be a connection between Alfred's abduction and Yao's murder, could there?

"Nothing," Kirkland replied to Detective Bonnefoy. The Frenchman sighed, and dragged his fingers through his hair. When the Englishman looked up, he saw the beginnings of bags underneath the other's blue eyes.

Kirkland caught himself thinking: Would it hurt to ask?

"Frog…" He began, and said nicknamed man raised a brow, as he leaned up against the wall. Kirkland looked to Alfred's journal, and then at the stale statements from Alfred's friends and the fresh report on how Alfred's safe house had been found to be haven burned down from the inside, and having taken several officers with it to the freshly blackened soil.

"Do we still have the files on the Yao Wang case?" Kirkland asked carefully. Bonnefoy frowned, "I would believe so, oui. Why? Did Alfred say anything about Yao in there?" The French officer was jumping to some conclusions, and Kirkland stopped him before the other officer winded himself too far up.

"No," Kirkland said firmly, "But I want to compare them. Did we ever recover a diary or journal in Yao's residence, like with Alfred?"

Bonnefoy's shoulders relaxed, and then his face smoothed somewhat from its dark expression. "I don't understand why you would do that, but you are an insightful person, Arthur. I'll see what I can do."

"You didn't answer my question, frog," Detective Kirkland replied, but the other officer was silent. There was a moment of terse silence, and then Bonnefoy revealed the new report from his side. He gave it to Kirkland, and then proceeded to walk away. He left with the words, "I'll see what I can do, Detective Kirkland."

The Englishman frowned, but when he looked down at the report, he found himself growing both angry and shocked. The first sentences of the report caught his attention the instant he read them:

'The old residence of Yao Wang/Wang Yao was found to have been burnt on October 12th, 20XX. The entire upper floor has been incinerated, and although there was an evacuation; nine people are suspected to have been killed inside the burning people, several are being hospitalized for severe burns and heavy inhalation of the smoke.

There has been no found evidence of the items used in the creation of the fire, and cameras are found with nothing and no one having committing the act. At the time, there are no suspects.'

"Bloody Hell!" Kirkland cried out in rage, as he threw down the finished report on the desk. Alfred's journal jumped, and burnt pages flinted and scratched at each other as they turned. Kirkland was close to pulling his hair out. The assailant of Yao was still out there, either that or he had an accomplice.

Just as Kirkland was about to stand and find something to occupy himself with, he saw the smaller report behind Yao's residence burning. They had yet to finish gathering all of the evidence, the same of Alfred's safe haven.

Kirkland skimmed the second report, and found shock brewing across his face, as he read it:

'Kiku Honda/Honda Kiku. Japanese Male of 23 years, and about 5 feet: He was declared missing as of October 12th, 20XX. His one-bedroom house (261 Imperial Avenue) was found in neat condition, the locks unbroken, but its owner missing and the remnant of a small dog by the back door.'

"Frog!" Kirkland called, "Stop whatever you're doing. We have a house to check!" The Detective was already pulling on his coat, face contorted in frustrated rage, but he found some of his emotion shared when he saw Bonnefoy coming down the aisles, with his badge and strapping his gun to his person.

"I could hear you all the way to the break room, Arthur," Bonnefoy said lightly. His face darkened, as he said, "I'm to assume you read the reports I gave you?" Kirkland nodded, "Yes. And we need to search Mr. Honda's residence, before we do anything."

"Hopefully, it won't burn before we get there," Bonnefoy commented, and Kirkland scoffed. "Or with us inside. Ash and burns would do wonders for my complexion."

"I agree, you need more color," Bonnefoy said, as they assembled a reasonable team and gave instructions. They were already headed for a car, as he continued, "But third- and fourth-degree burns sound a bit much, don't you think?"

Kirkland's nose twitched, as he glared at the taller blonde, "Go fuck yourself, frog. I was trying to be sarcastic."

"Oh really? I was just being honest." Bonnefoy said, with wide and dramatically innocent eyes. Kirkland growled, as he shoved the other away from him, grumbling under his breath.


Pft, even as serious detectives in a horrific story, I made FrUK humor. What the Hell is wrong with me?*shot*

I…I actually feel bad for writing that about Yao. I don't think he deserved all of what he got. Maybe he kind of deserved a good cold shoulder and an angry letter, but kidnapping/assault/rape/WHATTHEFUCK/murder? Nah…D:

Damn, I think I just put in a pairing in there…I can't remember what it was. Did anyone catch it? I'm not going into much detail about it, but since I love Kiku like I love my tomatoes with cheddar cheese (Don't knock it 'till you try it) I will spare him…some dignity. Not much I can do with Ivan.

Um…anyways…!

Guess who got to watch CSI again? :D

Not I, my brother was hogging the TV, and he refused to stop replaying the Olympics. He was still pissed he lost twenty bucks to me in the last event. ^_^ (It pays to have a woman's intuition, and using it for non-motherly situations.)

Anyways, more development this chapter. I hadn't expected to update this early, but yeah…I was bored, and procrastinating against this other story I've been meaning to post. Pft, no one wants to read another demon/curse story….Or do they?

Do you? I'm serious, I have no idea…(It's USUK, if anyone cares…)

READ AND REVIEW!

*al: If I have to explain this, I'm going to be pissed. Pray for Tony. I'm serious, pray for him. Your prayers might be answered. Pray for Tony and Kiku. *already praying*

** 'Attraction or Caution': Alfred is referring to the drawn smile, and asking himself/the journal on if his feelings are confused or justified.

*** 'before he grew too emotional': If any of us know anything about France/Francis, then you would understand why he would leave at the mention of THAT being forced on someone. (He's the country of Love, for wurst's sake. I'm disgusted by that, I would never even think of forcing that on even my worst enemy. It's not a good experience in any situation, I don't give a damn in what country or the circumstances. I don't give a damn if he/she loves you. It's still wrong, if you didn't want it to begin with.)