A/N: The first chapter pretty much followed the movie verbatim. Things will start deviating more and more as the story goes on, especially in the case of Gilbert's character.
Also, Peter Kirkland is Sealand—don't know if I mentioned that earlier. And the camp is based in Sagan, which Nazi Germany occupied. It is now a part of Poland.
Chapter Two: Tom
1943
Sagan, Nazi Germany
For exercise, and also just a way to pass the time, the prisoners would take long walks around the perimeter of the compound. The guards didn't walk with them, but they eyed them from their spots near the huts.
Arthur was walking side-by-side with Matthew—they used these walks to talk about the progress of the mission. Toris and Eduard were close behind them, joining in on the conversation as they needed to.
"So Francis has installed the forging team in the recreation hut," Matthew said shortly. Arthur kept his gaze forward, but listened closely.
"We've set up the manufacturing team in hut 110," Toris added.
"What about Feliciano and Feliks?" Arthur asked.
"They'll be working in hut 109. I'll work in hut 107. And Berwald and Tino will start in hut 104 on Tom," Matthew replied.
"Good," Arthur said, his face smooth. "We will need timber for the shaft and the infrastructure of the tunnels, once they get started. Do we have someone working on that?"
"Ah, Antonio has already taken up the task," Matthew said. His eyes kept catching the intense stare of a particular German guard, but he tried to ignore it. He was too far away to hear anything anyway. "Antonio said there are thirty-six empty bunks. He can tear up half of them and take their wood. And the rest will have to come from the strips of the wall as we've always done."
Arthur glanced to him. "Is he taking care of it himself?"
Matthew shook his head and looked ahead. "Not yet. He's working on some steel for a pick that Berwald needs."
Arthur nodded. "What's his plan for that?"
"I think he might be working with the Vargas brothers on this one. He's asking for a distraction while he lifts some steel from underneath one of the trucks."
"Well, that's one thing those boys are good at that's for sure," Arthur griped. Each of the Vargas brothers were excellent at their job, but their personalities were something Arthur could do without. He could do without a lot of things these days. "Once you have the steel how long will it take you to make the pick?" Arthur asked behind him.
Toris straightened automatically. "Depends on how well our diversions are for the sound, but I'd say maybe...two days?"
"Make it one," Arthur declared.
Toris pressed his lips together and shared his annoyance with Eduard. But Eduard gave him a look that said It is X talking after all. Toris stifled his sigh. "Will do, Arthur."
It took just one day for Antonio to acquire the steel, and one more for the manufacturing team to create the first pick. Before anyone dared to start the tunnel however, Lovino had to organize a team of surveillance across the camp—each person set up with their own signals.
Around midday, Lovino stood against a pole, smoking a cigarette. He'd been standing there for at least an hour, maybe two, trying to get an understanding of the German guard's movements. Fortunately, like everything else they did, it was efficient and meticulous: they couldn't help but make patterns for themselves. When the German guard finally turned the corner, Lovino deemed it safe to give the tunnel kings the go-ahead.
He started the system, and with much ease, he tossed a piece of paper away in the trash. Feliks saw from his station at the step of a hut, and happily swung his scarf around his shoulder. Another person further down the line began washing a dish in the outdoor sink, and finally the last gave a knock to hut 104.
Inside the hut, everyone had been growing increasingly impatient. But with the knock, they all sprung to life. Berwald was first. He'd been standing arms crossed near the furnace, and with the help of Tino beside him, they grabbed two planks of wood from underneath the top bunk, and used them to lift the furnace away from its place on the floor.
Tino turned to the others and explained, "we'll keep the furnace burning at all times. This way the Germans won't feel like moving it."
"Very good," Matthew nodded. He sat at the desk with a cup of tea.
Berwald crouched down, and pointed to the tiles on the floor. "Antonio, we need new tiles. These are chipped."
Antonio brought a hand to his lips and thought quickly. "There are some tiles in the bathroom of hut 113 which should match…"
"Good," Berwald said. He lifted the tiles away, revealing some wire hooks he'd installed. With practiced ease, he pulled the heavy square block out and set it to the side: underneath was a layer of cement. Tino knelt beside him and wordlessly handed a piece of chalk. Berwald grasped it and drew a blue square within the form of the cement. Beside it, he wrote the number seventeen.
Antonio turned to Feliciano, who was standing beside him. "Why seventeen? Do you know?"
Feliciano blinked and explained, "this is Berwald's seventeenth tunnel! He is the tunnel king, you know."
Antonio raised his brows and looked back. Seventeen tunnels?! Jesus Christ, that's a lot of work. He supposed it made sense considering Berwald's muscular frame and silent confidence. But still. Seventeen? That's pretty mad. Of course, Antonio was worked hard only to find the easy way out, so they were clearly two different types of people.
As Tino was retrieving the pick from his coat, Arthur had stormed into the room looking absolutely wired: his uniform was neat, but his hair was in disarray, and his eyes as hard as emeralds.
He didn't waste anytime with greetings and immediately turned to Berwald. "Are you ready?" he asked. His voice was eager. Before he got a reply, he added, "is it big enough?"
Berwald was in fact, a very tall man. But he was strong and determined, and by now very adept at working in small spaces. "It's perfect," he said, and pointed down. "Goes through the middle of the foundation."
Arthur smiled between him and Tino. "Good luck, boys." He clasped his hands behind his back and turned to Feliciano. "Give Lovino the signal."
Feliciano gently tapped the glass pane of the window, restarting the series of signals to let Lovino know they're ready to start. Lovino had set up Eduard in the garden to hammer a pole into the garden. With the signal, he began hammering—Lovino had spent hours getting his timing down. It had to be the same pace each swing, so Berwald could copy it.
Inside, Berwald was crouched over the cement block, pick in hand. Sweat beaded at his forehead - the furnace was so near - and he listened carefully for the cue of the sound outside.
BAM…one, two, three…BAM…one, two, three…
Berwald threw down the pick. It was loud, but just about as loud as the hammering outside. He'd barely chipped away a piece of the cement. The beginning was always the most laborious part. It would take hours. Fortunately time was something they had a lot of.
Feliciano stayed at his post by the window, looking marvelously happier than most in the room. Arthur especially gave off a tense auro. Antonio was not tempted in the least to get near him, so he stayed by Feliciano.
"Is Lovino usually the surveyor in the escapes?" Antonio asked.
Feliciano looked at him, and his eyes were golden. "He is, but that's because it's kind of what he did when we lived in America."
That sounded unusual, and Antonio tilted his head. "Oh? He worked security for some place?"
"For our grandfather's gang, yeah."
Antonio was so shocked he laughed. "Don't tell me you guys are mafia…"
Feliciano was so casual about it all. He smiled and looked out the window again. "Well, mafia is what they call it in Sicily. But you could basically say it's the same thing in Chicago." Then he sighed dramatically. "It sure is a lot colder though. It's miserable to do jobs in the wintertime."
Antonio kept laughing to himself, and Arthur shot him a glare from across the room. But in fact, Antonio was relieved to hear it. Lovino and Feliciano were definitely two of the younger men in the camp, he didn't have to ask as much to know it as fact. Antonio had been oddly preoccupied with concern over primarily Lovino at work. It was an important job, and if he messed up, well it could spell trouble for the operation surely, but also potential danger for him as Lovino as well.
But if Lovino was mafia…well, that should make this pretty interesting.
Things progressed without a hitch after that. Arthur had managed to organize the operation like a well-oiled machine. Perhaps it was thanks to his dictatorship. He didn't let any laziness slide, and was constantly at people's backs about doing their work perfectly. Once the first tunnel had been started, he went ahead and gave the order for Berwald to begin the second in the common bathroom of hut 105. There was a square drain of the same square dimension as the tile floor beneath the furnace—this was the starting point for tunnel Harry.
After some time, Berwald had already managed to pick through the layer of cement, and was able to insert himself fully into the drain. But before they could calmly resume work and push through further, he and Tino had to wait for Eduard to commandeer a block of cement to hide the growing tunnel.
Berwald sat tense by the side of the drain - he'd already lifted away the grate - and shared a quiet look with Tino. They'd been waiting for some time now. Waiting was one of the harder parts of working an escape.
Then they heard marching footsteps, and it was Eduard pushing his way through the crowded bunks and to the bathroom. He was swallowed in a large, brown coat of Berwald's, and Eduard kept it pressed close around him. As soon as he stepped into the bathroom, he opened up the lapels and revealed a square cut of cement.
Tino smiled as he took it. "Ah, well done Eduard. This is perfect." He turned it over once before passing it to Berwald.
Berwald inspected it carefully from underneath his glasses, and deftly dropped it inside the square drain. It fit to the exact measurements, and he nodded. "This will do."
"And here," Eduard handing him a metal looking spatula.
Berwald grabbed it and used it to pry the cement block back up. With no smile he complimented Eduard's efforts. "Very good." He set the spatula aside and passed the cement block back to Tino. Then he jumped into the hole with a chisel and rock and began chipping away at the cement on the sides of the drain.
Berwald always started the tunnels, and Tino would be there to pass him supplies and water as needed. He would help more once they were deep inside the earth: creating the wooden infrastructure and installing lights and so on. Berwald never said much as he worked. He never said much anyway. But his expression was set in stern concentration as he chipped and chipped away, slowly creating more space for his broad body.
Lovino was standing by the door - it was nighttime, so he couldn't watch from the outside because there was a curfew - and he watched attentively for any sign of German officers. He'd carved a hole in the door, which he plugged up with the same piece of wood. After some time, maybe twenty minutes, maybe an hour, he spotted the fast pace of armed Germans. He swiftly plugged the hole and gave the sign to Feliciano.
Feliciano swiftly tapped the center furnace with a tin cup, and at once the entire crowd was moving. Most rushed to the area nearest to the door: buying more time for Berwald and Tino to clean up. After climbing out, Berwald dropped the chisel and rock into the tunnel, and Tino was by his side installing the new cement block over the hole. Eduard, who'd been standing near, grabbed the drain and threw it back in place.
Tino grabbed the bucket of water and tossed it over the bathroom floor, just as Berwald was stripping himself of his clothes to jump into the shower.
Germans were inside now, and they were yelling at the loiterers to get out of the way.
"All of you—move! Get in your bunks. Out of the way!"
Tino grabbed a mop and began pushing water across the floor. The shower was running, and Berwald hurried inside.
The Germans resorted to pushing the prisoners out of the way, until finally the one in charge was in the communal bathroom. He held his belt and looked around seriously. He pointed his gaze to Tino first.
"Why are you not in your hut?" he asked.
Tino held the mop and gave a small smile. "I'm mopping up."
The German shook his head and glanced to Berwald standing in the shower. "And you?" Apparently he knew their assigned huts. Neither Berwald nor Tino were supposed to be there.
Berwald barely moved under the water as he replied, "need a wash."
The German narrowed his eyes but turned away to Eduard, who'd perched himself over the wooden wall of the bathroom. "And you?"
Eduard adjusted his glasses and gave a very stern look. "I'm the lifeguard, of course."
That comment, the German had no patience for. He turned on his heel and shouted, "all right, everybody back to your huts! At once! Move!"
Once the Germans had turned their backs and were exiting the hut from the way they came, Tino perched his head on top of the mop and gave a secret smile to Berwald.
Berwald's hair was wet, and his glasses had been discarded to the side. He shared a rare satisfied smile with Tino. Tricking Germans was always a bonding exercise.
The Germans made a grand show of inspecting all of the bunks, tearing up the mattresses from their place and throwing off the covers. But they didn't find anything. And with dissatisfied frowns and a few more shouts they left the prisoners alone.
Alfred was staring at the wall in front of him. He managed to scratch tally marks onto the stone with a piece of rock he found on the ground. His hair was wild, and his eyes manic. He was so sure…so positive. It had to have been twenty days now, right?
And just as he was going over the figures on his hands, frantically searching his memory to recall how much time had passed, footsteps echoed outside his room, and suddenly the door was swung open and a German guard stared him down.
Alfred looked at him expectantly. "What's up, man?" he blurted.
The German gestured with his head. "Out."
"Hell yeah!" Alfred grinned and quickly scrambled on the floor to pick up his glove and baseball. With an extra bounce in his step, he walked out of the cellar, the German guard close on his tail. Alfred threw a glance over his shoulder and spotted Peter walking a little ways behind him, looking just about as relieved as Alfred.
This was the first time it hit Alfred just how young Peter looked. Geez, it didn't look like handled the cooler very well. But Alfred wasn't afraid to make a fool of himself to cheer others up, so he comically lifted his hand in a thumb's up. Although his arm was swiftly bat down by the butt of a German's gun, he still smiled, because at least Peter laughed: and it sounded like a genuine laugh.
Arthur didn't trust many people anymore, and that's saying something, because he didn't trust many to begin with. But joining the war hardened him, being shot down angered him, being imprisoned depressed him, and being tortured by the Gestapo ruined him.
He started out the war with Matthew, so Matthew he trusted implicitly. And it made sense anyway, since Matthew was very obviously well-meaning, respectful, kind, and intelligent. There was really no proper cause even for a person as difficult as Arthur to be anything but nice to him. And Matthew was very loyal, which Arthur appreciated. Unfortunately, they were shot down together. But Arthur supposed the silver lining of having one of the few people he liked was okay in the end.
Arthur was a planner. A general by nature. And he was far better at it than Matthew, because Arthur was hardly a gentleman any longer. War transforms gentlemen into pirates, and that was what Arthur was nowadays. He didn't mind being ruthless, he didn't care about being cruel. He was going to get what he wanted—and it just so happened that it was what others wanted as well. Matthew was his right-hand man, his logistics, and very often his conscience. And Arthur thought the arrangement was marvelous. But as always Francis had to barge his way in.
Francis decided to be the emotion of the operation.
Arthur and Francis weren't familiar with each other before the prisoner of war camps, but they met in the very first one they'd each been trapped in. And right from the beginning, they had a very odd relationship. Francis didn't belong in war or camps, and that very fact angered Arthur. It angered him because he, for some unknown reason, cared. Francis was infuriating, arrogant, and obnoxiously snobbish; but he had his redeeming qualities. He had the front of someone who wouldn't dare lift a finger, but anytime Arthur ordered him a task, Francis was incredibly adept at fulfilling his duties. Because Francis, like each of his occupations required, was a person who appreciated the beauty of perfection.
Arthur finally came around to him when he noticed that Francis would work for hours creating the perfect forgery. Sitting at a desk by candlelight well into the night, and Arthur had to physically drag him from his chair to get him to bed.
Of course, they fought. And they fought terribly often. But Francis was as stubborn as Arthur was and refused to be kicked to the side.
Francis got along splendidly with Matthew (no surprise there), so he by all means, charmed his way into Arthur's confidence. So even now, with the largest operation each of them have ever attempted, Francis was involved in all of Matthew and Arthur's covert meetings. Well, whenever he could spend the time. Francis acted like he always had all the time in the world, which was anything but true. But once in a while, Arthur let him be there. Because it made Francis happy for some reason, and against all better judgment, Arthur liked making him happy. Occasionally. When it was convenient.
They were in Arthur's room, and Matthew sat across from Francis at a table. Francis was dressed as elegantly as ever - perhaps the only prisoner with clean clothes - and he smoked a cigarette and Matthew debated something with him. Arthur was standing stiffly against the wall near the window, ignoring every smile Francis threw his way.
Listen to Matthew, Arthur ordered silently.
Francis's lips would curl, and that meant he understood Arthur's expression.
"No, no," Matthew complained, and he held his face in his hand. The problem with being Arthur's right-hand man, was that it was Matthew that had to deal with the details. "I just…Look. I know the plan is to put the Germans to sleep, but without this details the rest of the plan falls apart, don't you see?"
Francis tapped his cigarette over the ashtray. "Yes, my dear. I do see. But what if—"
All of them paused at the knock of the door.
"Come in," Arthur called and he maneuvered a little more central in the room to see who it was.
Toris appeared first, and he was leading two gentlemen inside. One of whom, Arthur knew all too well. But the taller, more robust, and very clearly American—Arthur had not yet had the displeasure to meet. He'd only heard about him from Matthew's reports.
Toris nodded to Matthew and let himself outside again, closing the door quietly.
"Ah, Peter," Matthew greeted, and he pushed out the extra chair for him to sit.
"Mattie! Oh, it's so good to see you!" Peter cheered and he jumped onto the seat and pulled Matthew in for an awkward hug.
Matthew laughed and patted his back gently. He caught Arthur's glare and coughed. "Um, do you want to say hello to your cousin?"
Peter pulled away from the hug and looked to Arthur. Peter crossed his arms and turned the other way. "Why should I?"
Arthur pressed his lips together and copied the same defensive gesture. "Peter, why the hell were you in the cooler for twenty days?"
"Well, I was—"
Alfred interrupted with a booming laugh that caught everyone off guard. He quickly stepped forward to Arthur and extended his hand. "Oh wow, you're Peter's cousin? Man, that's crazy. What's your name?"
Arthur was so caught off guard by—by—by? Everything. He dumbly stuck his hand out, and his arm was swung up and down in a vigorous handshake. "I'm, um…I'm Arthur." How long had it been since he'd given his own introduction? Arthur hated to think he was self-absorbed, but dammit, had this man really not heard of him at all?
Alfred's eyes glittered like the summer sky behind his glasses and he grinned wide. "Artie, huh? That's a real British name," he dropped the handshake and observed Arthur with some humor. "But you know what? It suits you. I like it. Artie the Brit."
Arthur was still so absolutely flabbergasted. He really had no idea where his anger had vanished to. Once again, he asked the question he really didn't mean to ask (or care) the answer to. "Um, and you are?"
"What?!" Alfred shouted and he stepped closer. "Are you tellin' me you don't know who I am? Then why'd that shy guy tell me to come to your room? He made it seem like you were real important too. Kept calling you 'Big X'. Is that a British thing?"
Thankfully, before Arthur could embarrass himself further, Matthew kindly interjected.
"No, Alfred. It was me who called you in here," he said calmly. And he extended his hand. "I'm Group Captain Matthew Williams. I've heard a lot about you."
Alfred turned to him—for the first time realizing that he was there it seemed. He smiled again and gave Matthew the same energetic shake. "Mattie! Yes, Peter mentioned you. Not much to do in the cooler but talk, ya know." He laughed and looked to Arthur again. "Strange your name didn't come up though."
"That's because I don't like him," Peter proclaimed stubbornly. And that—that finally shook Arthur awake.
"Peter, stop being so childish," Arthur ordered. "Wartime is not the right place for our petty feuds."
Peter looked over his shoulder and stuck out his tongue. Alfred laughed again.
"Man oh man, you Brits are so funny," Alfred scratched scratched his head, messing up his hair further. He pointed between Matthew and Francis. "Let me guess…Canadians?"
Francis was slightly ticked off: Arthur could tell that much, he just didn't know why. Because when Francis was ticked off, his eyes were dark when he smiled. Absolutely no shine in sight. "What gave it away, little American? Our beauty? Our grace?"
"Nah, nah, man," Alfred waved his hand. "You're just quiet. That's how I know." He snickered to himself, which really should have been very insulting to everyone present. And yet, it didn't sound hurtful, or judgmental. It was just…he found everything funny for whatever reason.
Matthew coughed, trying to reclaim some severity in the room. "Um, Alfred. Arthur is called 'Big X' here because he's the leader of our escape. And this here is Francis Bonnefoy, our forger."
"Oh, that's pretty cool, I guess," Alfred nodded.
Matthew's eyes shifted between Arthur and Alfred. "...Erm, right, well. I called you two in here, because I understand you guys are contemplating a blitz-out. Is that right?"
Alfred turned to Arthur—he was still standing far, far too close. "What?! Artie, don't tell me you have ears on the walls, do ya?"
"No, Alfred dear. It's Matthew that heard about it," Francis said swiftly. He was definitely pissed off now. His eyes were pitch blue. "It's Matthew's job to know everything that goes on in this camp."
"Oh, I see," Alfred sing-songed. "You're a bit of a spy are you?" Alfred winked.
A blush appeared on Matthew's cheeks from confused embarrassment. "No, it's just my job in this operation. I'm intelligence you see and—"
"Right," Francis placated and he crushed his cigarette in the ashtray. "We called you both in here to talk over your plan."
Alfred matched eyes with Peter and asked, "why? It's only a two-man job. Don't need you help, or anything."
"Well, you see," Matthew began with more confidence. "Everyone is supposed to clear all escape attempts with Arthur here. That's the protocol."
Alfred raised his brows. "Woah, man. You're serious?" He glanced to Arthur again. "You the king of this place or somethin'?"
"We don't want to interfere Alfred," Matthew continued smoothly. "But we just—well, I guess I should ask first what kind of plan you have in mind?"
Alfred tossed his head back and laughed. "Oh, that's easy," he said and clapped his hand on Peter's shoulder. "I gave this a lot of thought, so listen up! Peter and I sneak out at night to a spot I found near the wire: a blind spot. Then we dig straight down three feet," he made the motion of digging. "Then, we spread it on top of us so it won't make a pile. And then," he pushed his hand forward in the air, eyes wide, "we go straight out." Alfred pointed to Peter. "See, Peter here is a tunnel-man, so he digs in front and pushes the dirt behind him, and I stash it behind me. Then we just burrow through the ground like a couple of moles." Alfred grinned triumphantly. "And by dawn we're under the wire, across the open-space, into the woods, and home free."
Everyone had been struck silent, but no one could pinpoint the exact reason why. Alfred's presence had caused such a stir, it was hard to decipher what to react to first…
Somehow, Arthur had found his nerve again and he managed to give Alfred a grave look. "Well, when do you intend to try this?"
Alfred spun to him, his face bright. "Oh, tonight of course."
Francis hummed to himself and held his chin in his hand. "Um, Alfred dear. I don't know if this is quite the right time. You must have heard that we have a—"
"Francis," Peter interrupted quickly, and he shifted his eyes to Matthew too. "I just want to get home. And I want to get home now," he pleaded. Peter always seemed young, but now he looked even younger, like a child. And the way he regarded Alfred—it was like he was looking at his hero. "I know it'll work. I know it will."
Arthur bit his lip to prevent himself from saying anything he may or may not regret. Alfred seemed very pleased, and Matthew more empathetic than before. Francis had very adamantly turned away now and lit another cigarette.
"How do you breathe, Alfred?" Arthur asked eventually.
"Oh, well we have a steel pipe with hinges on it and we shove it up and make air-holes with it as we go alone," Alfred answered matter of factly. There was another long silence, and it felt even longer with Alfred's loud stare shifting among them.
"Well, Alfred…Peter," Matthew nodded. "You seem to have made up your minds, so I guess all we can do is wish you good luck." He looked to Francis and Arthur and tried to catch their attention. "Right?"
Francis puffed out some smoke and waved his hand. "Yes, all the best."
Arthur managed a small smile to each of them. "Good luck, boys."
Alfred smiled, and it was softer than before. "Well, thanks for that Artie. I hope your grand escape goes well too. Better not mess up!" He raised one finger tauntingly. "Seems like the Gestapo already got ya once, right? Yeah, they're annoying. That's how I got my glasses," Alfred pulled his glasses off and glared at them. Then he put them back on and laughed. "Anyway, let's go Peter! Lot's of planning to do."
Peter hopped from his chair and scurried to Alfred's side. Alfred pulled open the door and gave a last wave. "See y'all later!"
The door shut before anyone could respond.
Arthur blinked once, twice, three times to catch find his fortitude again. He turned to Matthew and glared. "Who the bloody hell was that annoying bastard?"
Matthew was looking over his notes again and he looked at Arthur with confusion. "It was Alfred. The American pilot. I told you he was rumored to be a character."
"A character is one thing, but a monstrosity is another," Arthur declared forcefully. "My cousin is in his care, for god's sake. Shouldn't I have an extra warning? He just called the bloody Gestapo 'annoying'!"
Francis took a long drag of his cigarette before he offered his snarky reply. "Arthur, stop being coy. We all know you liked him."
Arthur's eyes went wide, and his frown was violent. "What did you say?"
"You liked him," Francis quipped. "You were actually struck speechless. What else do you call that but your odd affection."
Arthur marched forward, yanked the cigarette from Francis's mouth, and tossed it out the window. "It's called being blind with fury!" he shouted, and stormed out the room without another word.
Francis sighed and rested his chin in his hand. "His hard-headedness is too much sometimes." He looked outside, watching Arthur march across the compound.
At some point Matthew lifted his head from his notes and blurted, "you know, their plan is so stupid it's actually brilliant." He paused and caught Francis's evasive gaze. "Oh, but it'll bring all the Germans in the camp crashing down on us."
Francis pursed his lips. "I disagree," he said. "Perhaps Arthur is being too clever. If we stop all the breakouts, it might convince them that we must be tunneling."
Matthew was quiet and eventually nodded his head in agreement. After some time, he added, "well, I hope it works. If it doesn't, those two are going to be in the cooler for quite a long time."
The escape was a failure.
Alfred and Peter were brought back to the camp covered in dirt and looking absolutely livid. Well, Alfred looked livid, and Peter actually looked distraught. Francis had caught a glimpse of them on their return and laughed, which all the more angered Alfred.
They were shoved into the cooler without a word at how long their stay would be.
Alfred was resigned to their punishment, and decided to use the time to contemplate his next blitz. But he didn't know that in the other room, Peter was more distressed than ever now. His fragile boyishness was crumbling, and he spent too many hours crying into his knees.
Who knew how long they'd be in there this time?
Tunnel Tom was progressing beautifully. Arthur frequently stopped by to check on its progress, and as ever the tunnel kings were living up to their title. Tino and Berwald had already managed to push deep into the earth underneath the hut. Antonio and Eduard had managed to set them up with some lumber for the initial infrastructure, and they were pushing through very efficiently.
The problem now was what to do with the dirt?
Arthur had called another meeting: this time it was just him, Matthew, and Tino.
"So, Arthur," Tino began. He dropped a pile of dirt from one sack. It was dark brown and rich. "This is the dirt from the tunnel."
Matthew dropped a pile of dirt from another sack. "And this the dirt from the compound." It was bright red and dry.
Arthur practiced dropping some of the dark dirt over the dry dirt. He sighed. It was so damn obvious no matter how you looked at it.
"Wherever we put it, they're going to spot it a mile away," Matthew complained.
"Maybe we could put it under the huts? It's dark enough under there," Tino prompted.
Matthew shook his head. "No, that's the first place they'd look. I saw Germans inspecting there the other day."
Arthur rose from his chair and began pacing the room in thought.
"Is there a way for us to dry it out to the same color?" Matthew asked tentatively.
Tino smiled sadly and let the dirt fall between his fingers. "We're going to have fifty tons of it…"
"I was just thinking out loud," Matthew replied softly.
Arthur looked at him hard and frustrated. "Well, if you must think, think clearly," he ordered. Then with a laborious breath he murmured, "where the hell is Raivis with the answer?"
Matthew had leaned over the table looking forlornly at the piles of dirt. "We can't destroy the dirt and we can't eat it," he said. "So all that's left is to disguise it." His head fell and he sighed. "But how?"
Then like an answer to a prayer the door opened without a knock. The diminutive, blond man - Raivis - was there with a blanket over his arm. He looked absolutely wild with excitement.
Arthur was the first to address him, and as always it began with criticism. "Didn't they teach you to be prompt?"
For once, Raivis was not bothered by Arthur's tone and he looked up at him actually eager. "Arthur, you'll never believe it, but I think I have the solution!" he proclaimed, and walked over to the table. Arthur followed closely, and Raivis continued, "so the problem is to somehow get rid of this tunnel dirt over the compound."
"Yes, of course!" Arthur shouted. "Stop stating the obvious. What is your solution?"
Raivis actually smiled, and he threw the blanket off of his arm and handed it to Tino. Then he turned away and adjusted something over his neck. He shifted back around, and over himself he had a long piece of cloth that extended to his thighs, attached to small white sacks on either side. "Now, you fill these bags," he lifted the white sacks, "with dirt from the tunnels. Then, wearing them inside your pants, you pull these string inside your pockets…" Raivis dropped the white sacks to his sides, and tugged at the fine strings. "Out come the pins, and the dirt falls to the floor," he said, as the dirt fell just so beneath him. "All you have to do next is kick it in!"
Raivis made a grand display of kicking the dark dirt across the tarp set across the floor, and he looked for approval from Arthur. But Tino spoke first.
"Raivis that's brilliant!" he exclaimed happily.
Raivis nodded nervously, and added, "unless you're a complete fool the Germans won't notice a thing."
"It's incredible!" Matthew added ecstatically and he looked to Arthur. "Don't you think so?"
Arthur smiled cautiously and said, "We'll try it first thing tomorrow."
Now Raivis was jittering in his shoes. "I already have! It works."
Matthew, Arthur, and Tino all turned to him in the same way.
Thank GOD. Now let's think of how to put it to work.
By Arthur's orders and Francis's pleas, the prisoners had grown quite accustomed to the routine of gardening, so at least it wasn't anything new.
Two days after Raivis had announced his new invention, Feliks and Feliciano were put to work on creating as many as possible, and Matthew distributed them across the compound.
And on the third, in the midst of sunshine, the prisoners were gardening in the compound. Francis was leading the efforts, primarily because it was him that was concerned about the product of their work (he was the chef after all). But Arthur couldn't miss an opportunity to order the other prisoners around, so he too practiced gardening his own plot.
As almost half the prisoners gardened the other half was milling about the grounds and occasionally stopped over the gardens to deliver a similar message.
"Arthur says hello," Feliciano said, and dirt fell through his pants.
Francis smiled and raked the dirt into the garden. "Oh, is that so? How nice?"
Lovino stomped onto Arthur's plot and muttered, "the French bastard said he hates you." Dirt fell near his shoes.
Arthur rolled his eyes and furiously raked it in. "What's new?"
And with a routine like that, they managed to disguise the dirt into their gardens. But that wasn't enough. They were working on three tunnels after all, and that accumulated a lot of dirt. So during their morning march arounds, most wore the invention.
As they marched Antonio stood beside them. He yelled, "all right, let's look sharp!" He marched in place as the others moved forward and watched them pull the pins from their trousers and kick the dirt in as they marched. Antonio watched and watched until he was satisfied and said, "okay! That looks sharp."
He followed after them.
But occasionally, the commandant would descend from his office and observe all of the prisoners at work: he seemed especially fond of visiting them as they were gardening (perhaps it was the tools).
He visited one day, escorted by many guards, one of which was the Prussian many of the prisoners had run into, and Ludwig kicked the earth of the garden as he inspected it.
This was Francis's garden, and everyone near it had all but froze at the commandant's presence.
Ludwig finishing kicking a rock and said, "please gentlemen, don't stop for me. This is just a routine inspection."
Arthur wasn't gardening at the moment, and was instead lingering with Matthew near Francis by the door of the hut. He shared eye contact as indiscreetly as possible, and tried to remain casual.
Ludwig spotted him and walked in his direction. He half-smiled and said, "I am sorry the soil isn't better suited to gardening."
Arthur took a breath to compose himself and nodded his head. "We'll manage sir."
Unfortunately, Ludwig continued. "I must say I am surprised at the extent of the prisoners' activity here in the camp. Pleased of course, but surprised. Flyers are gentlemen not fit for digging dirt, and that is why I am surprised."
Somehow, Arthur managed some humor. "The English have always been keen on gardening."
Ludwig raised a brow and glanced down at the dirt. "Yes, but I thought it was flowers?"
Francis popped up from his rake and said, "you can't eat flowers."
The Prussian was snickering in the background, but only Francis seemed to hear it.
"Good point," Ludwig acknowledged with a slight tilt of his head. "Have a good day."
It took a while for the grand group of Germans to finally leave their line of sight, and no one felt comfortable talking until then.
"I have the worst feeling he knows exactly what we're doing," Matthew murmured worriedly.
"Maybe he does," Francis joked and he continued working his garden.
"You don't really think so do you?"
Arthur rubbed the back of his neck before crossing his arms again. "We'll find out soon enough."
Matthew walked into Antonio's room without knocking one morning, looking a little winded, and carrying a box full to the brim with supplies. Antonio had been smoking a cigarette near his window, but at the sight of Matthew he quickly put it out and dropped it outside.
"Okay, Antonio. I have some Christmas presents for you," Matthew said lightly. He pushed Francis's many things to the side, and dropped the box onto the table. "So we have two packets of biscuits," he said as he unpacked the box. "Two tins of coffee. One jar of olive oil. Six packs of cigarettes. One strawberry jam. One blueberry jam." Matthew pulled out the last jar and set it down. "And one marmalade."
Antonio knelt underneath the bottom bunk and retrieved another container. "And some Danish butter," he grinned and plopped it in the pile. "Some German's thing. He seemed to have dropped it."
Matthew chuckled, and produced something from his inside jacket pocket. "Ah, right. And two Dutch chocolate bars," he finished. "That cleans out all of the gift food for the entire organization. Most of them parted with them pretty bitterly, let me tell you." Matthew stood up straight and turned his palm. "Now the first thing we need is the new form of travel permit. We have no idea what it looks like, and we can't move without it."
Antonio picked up a chocolate bar and turned it over. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen chocolate. He gave Matthew a quick nod. "I'll see what I can do."
"And of course, any other identification cards, personal papers…documents you can get your hands on," Matthew said as he counted off his fingers. He picked up the empty box and tucked it under his arm.
Antonio set down the chocolate bar in the pile of rare delicacies. "Right."
"Okay then," Matthew gave him a short wave and small smile. "Put them to work, Toni." He walked out of the room as quietly and swiftly as before. Matthew was one of the busiest men in the operation, so he never stayed anywhere long. He was Arthur's second-in-command, and he seemed to do most of the legwork for him too.
Antonio scratched his chin in thought. Travel papers, huh? He'd definitely have to corner one of the German guards. It'd be hard to pick-pocket them without talking. Okay, not hard. Impossible. So he needed one that would be willing to hold a conversation with him.
He looked at the food most men, German or otherwise, hadn't seen in months and grinned.
Perhaps it was time to charm the funny Prussian again.
Being surveyor, sometimes meant leading the distractions. Lovino detested this part of the job, but leading a large group of men in choir was oftentimes the easiest and most efficient way of inducing a large amount of noise.
So he grit his teeth and bore the humiliation. Even as Antonio walked past laughing, he continued. Lovino led them in Christmas carols. It wasn't anywhere near Christmas, but dammit they were the only songs he, the Brits, and Canadians could agree upon.
After perhaps the third time singing "Oh ye faithful" the German guards passed them, and Lovino deftly gave the signal to the manufacturing team.
Inside the hut closest to them, Eduard, Raivis, and Toris set to work: hammering in tune with the song. As odd as that may be.
Arthur burst through during their work hours, lamenting, "Toris, where the hell is the air pump?"
Eduard rolled his eyes from his workstation and said, "patience is a virtue, Arthur."
"But not a virtue we have time for," Arthur quipped. "The diggers can only work with the traps are open, and this is holding us up very badly."
Toris maneuvered around the hut to lift some planks from the wall in the room: he revealed the air pump looking absolutely pristine.
"Is it finished?" Arthur asked impatiently.
"Of course," Toris said, as he placed the pump on the table.
"Well, why isn't it in then?"
"We're working on the air ducts now," Eduard declared over his shoulder.
Arthur frowned. "Well, when will they be finished?"
Toris shared a look with Raivis and shrugged his shoulders. "One or two days?" He made a display of working the air pump to prove to Arthur that it was working.
"Will it give us enough air?"
"Of course it will."
Arthur grinned and gave a rare compliment, "excellent work, gentlemen." The manufacturing team beamed as Arthur turned to the doorway. But before he flew out the door he gave one last command: "Have it in by tomorrow night." And the door shut behind him.
None of them ceased. But as Eduard and Raivis hammered they glanced back at Toris.
Toris groaned over the air pump. Not again. How were they supposed to get this done in a day?
…But Arthur was the boss after all. They had to do the impossible to suit Arthur's schedule.
Ever since the first day at the camp, Antonio had kept a close eye on the Prussian. Most of the other German guards were eerily stoic, not opening their mouths unless it was to shout or criticize; but typically they didn't even do that and preferred to use force to get their point across.
The Prussian…well, he was definitely different. As far as Antonio could tell from his minor observations, the Prussian was one of the higher ups in the compound. Not on par with the commandant of course, but aside from him, there was no one else in the camp giving the Prussian orders. Just like his first impression, the Prussian was definitely intense. Anyone could feel his gaze when it turned to them. And not just because it was red. It was because it was knowing.
In a way, the commandant lived in a separate world than the prisoners. He often stopped by, and he always had a thorough way about him when he walked across the compound. But Antonio wasn't as worried about his perceptions as much as the Prussian. The commandant had a certain nobility about him: definitely the Luftwaffe installed a strong code of right and wrong in him. Or the German upper-class version of it anyway. He was definitely against the prisoners, but he didn't look at them with hate really. Just a bit of disdain.
The Prussian, perhaps because he was on the grounds of the camp so much more, picked up on cues far more quickly. Apparently, he'd already had run-ins with several of the other prisoners already. Before he was going to approach him, Antonio decided to get some advice from Lovino.
With his job as surveyor, Lovino was almost always outside. So Antonio just had to walk down a few rows of huts to eventually find him standing by a pole. He glanced at Antonio shortly and said, "I'm working."
Antonio smiled easily. "I'll be fast," he promised.
Lovino rolled his eyes. "Doubt it. But lay it on me anyway."
Antonio shoved his hands in his pockets and gestured to the Prussian standing by the wire. He was pretty faraway, but the silver hair still glinted. "You see that guard there. What do you know of him?"
Lovino followed Antonio's gaze and at the sight of the guard he tensed up. "Oh fuck," he muttered. "That's Gilbert Bielschmidt. He's the one that tackled Feliks last week."
"He tackled him?" Antonio repeated, his tone rising. He didn't think he'd have to worry about violence with this one, but it seemed he was wrong.
"Well," Lovino coughed. "I mean, Feliks was trying to steal some food from a German officer." Lovino seemed to be giving this information away reluctantly. "And he did try to run away…but still Gilbert's an asshole who doesn't miss anything. I'd stay clear of him."
Antonio laughed at the story, and Lovino glared at him for it. Still though, he had to admit, "I'm kind of surprised to hear that. Gilbert seemed to be kinda funny when I talked to him. Like he was bored."
Maybe he was bored. Gilbert seemed like the type with a lot of energy, and after all, he was trained Luftwaffe: guarding some prisoners can't be what he wanted to do with his life.
"Funny?" Lovino asked darkly. "You know he's the commandant's brother, right?"
Bielschmidt, Bielshmidt. The penny dropped and Antonio laughed a bit embarrassed. "Oh my gosh, you're right."
"Idiot."
Antonio kept laughing, but he thought he may as well ask for a little more advice. "Anyway, have you noticed any quirks about him? Does he seem to like anything unusual?"
"I can't believe we're still talking about this asshole," Lovino muttered. "I don't know his whole life story. I do know that he gives me the most trouble, because his movements aren't the same as the other Germans," he sighed tiredly. "Aside from that…fuck. I don't know? He stares at the sky a lot. That's kinda weird. He also tends to hang around Francis's garden, but he might just be hungry. Haven't caught him stealing anything yet though."
"He's hungry? Oh perfect," Antonio smiled. He'd heard what he needed, so now he just had to prepare a few things. But first, he leaned close to Lovino.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"This!" Antonio kissed Lovino on the cheek: just a peck. But it was enough to send him stumbling backwards by a violent shove to the chest.
"BASTARD!" Lovino shouted. And oh, was he absolutely red. "I only accept payment in cigarettes and tomatoes—stop being a cheapskate and make yourself useful!"
Antonio laughed, but it was a little wheezy. He didn't expect Lovino to be capable of such a hard push. Jesus.
Sure enough, Lovino was right. Gilbert did stare at the sky a lot. When Antonio found him in one of the huts, he was standing near the window looking intently upwards.
So after lighting his cigarette he strolled beside him and said, "beautiful day, isn't it?"
Gilbert straightened to attention at once and swung his head around with eyes red and ready to order. But when he saw Antonio, and after he registered the words, he seemed to relax ever so slightly. Without smiling, he replied, "it is." He watched Antonio for a moment longer, analyzing him, then turned away.
Antonio continued smoking, and very purposefully blew smoke in Gilbert's direction. He caught Gilbert glance at him every so often and Antonio smirked. With much practiced grace he pulled out his pack of cigarettes and passed one to Gilbert. "I'm sorry, would you like one?"
Gilbert blinked and Antonio could tell he was trying to figure out a motive. But he still took it. "Thanks," he said. His smile was very tight, like he was trying to withhold his humor. "But I'll have to smoke it later. The commandant is a real hardass about that sort of thing."
"Oh, well in that case, take a few more," Antonio cheered and took the liberty of tucking cigarettes into Gilbert's breast-pocket. "I'm sure you have friends."
Gilbert laughed this time, but it looked like he didn't mean to. "You really have no idea how the German army works, do you?"
"No, not really," Antonio said easily. He took long drags of his cigarette.
Gilbert was torn—that much was obvious. But eventually a reckless and stubborn streak glinted across his eyes and he grinned genuinely. "You know what? Fuck it. I'm going to smoke it now," he declared boldly. He pulled out the cigarette and a lighter from his back pocket and pointed to Antonio. "There's only you to tell on me, Spaniard. Remember that."
Antonio's smile was wide. "I will."
Gilbert lit his cigarette, looking very proud of himself indeed. He looked outside again and peered at the sky. "Ugh, I think it might rain later."
"Oh, no, no," Antonio reassured. "Red in the morning, sailors take warning. Red sky at night, sailor's delight. It was a red sky last night."
Gilbert chuckled, and it was a very funny sound. "Never heard that before. Sounds American."
It definitely was. Antonio had picked it up from Lovino. But he thought it may be useful. "I learned it in the boy scouts."
"You were a boy scout?" Gilbert perked up.
"Yes."
"So was I!" Gilbert exclaimed very excitedly. "I had nineteen merit badges." His face gleamed in arrogance.
"Oh, is that so?" Antonio said. "I had twenty."
Gilbert paused and his mood temporarily turned sour. "Yes, well I was working on my twentieth when the government abolished scouting and sent me to the Hitler youth instead." He furrowed his brows and puffed on his cigarette.
Antonio put his cigarette out on the window sill and let it drop outside. Then he crossed his arms. "Hey, Gilbert, do you think you'll stay in the army after the war?"
Gilbert laughed loudly. "Hell no. I'm doing my own thing after this. I'm sick of following other people's orders." He went still for a moment and turned to Antonio very deliberately. "Don't tell anyone I told you this."
"Oh please," Antonio waved his hand dismissively. "It's a soldier's right to complain."
Gilbert rolled his eyes, muttering something about Spaniards. "Maybe in your army, but here if you say something like that they ship you off to the Russian front." He shook his head. "Bastards."
"Is that so?" Antonio made a very sad face and pressed his fingers to his temple. "That's terrible. Terrible." He paced a few steps away, letting a silence settle again. Then he looked back. "Hey, Gilbert? How about we go to my room where we can talk more comfortably?"
Without thinking Gilbert stepped forward, but then the instinct hit him and he pressed his lips together seriously. "Better not. If anyone should see me…" he sighed and grumbled something in German.
Antonio lingered by the door and threw out some more bait. "Well, I was just going to make some coffee," he said. "Some real coffee." He watched how Gilbert alternated glances between him and the window now. Antonio smiled and waved his hand. He walked to his room, very certain Gilbert would follow. So he stayed by the outside of his room, the door left open, and waited until Gilbert's black uniform turned the corner. He no longer carried his cigarette, and he marched into Antonio's room with very careful eyes.
Antonio smiled and shut the door behind them. Gilbert was standing near the bunks, hands clasped behind his back, and Antonio could feel his gaze watching him unlock his cupboard.
"Now, let's see," Antonio sang. He dug through the very full cabinet. "Not this," he said and put down the marmalade. "Not these." Out came the two jars of jam.
Gilbert shuffled over and gazed at the objects with wonder. "Holy shit, is that jam?" He held it up curiously.
Antonio looked over his shoulder and smiled. "Oh yeah, my grandmother keeps sending me this stuff." He pulled out the two bars of chocolate and tossed them onto the table.
"No way," Gilbert muttered in disbelief. He grabbed a chocolate bar and turned it over. His eyes were sparkling like a child's. "Chocolate? You have chocolate?!" He laughed and picked up the other one.
"Oh yeah," Antonio said and pushed the chocolate bar into Gilbert's chest. "Keep it." Antonio whistled and pulled out the olive oil, a pack of cigarettes, and ah…the Danish butter.
Gilbert was too sharp to miss it, and at the sight of it, his smile vanished and he picked it up. "This is my butter," he said very slowly and his face grew more and more stern. He looked at Antonio accusingly.
"You can have it back if you like," Antonio offered, and pushed the butter into Gilbert's arms too. "It's on me."
Gilbert's glare was angry, and the soldier was back. He dropped the butter and chocolate bar to the table violently. "I have to report you. You'll be sent to the cooler," he declared and turned on his heel.
Antonio swiftly picked up the chocolate bar and latched onto Gilbert's arm. He laughed and matched Gilbert's glare. "Oh, come on now Gilbert. It's all in good fun. Take it back, and some chocolate too!"
Gilbert pulled his arm away and grabbed the doorknob. "No, I have to report this." He opened the door, but Antonio slammed it shut.
"And report what?" Antonio smiled tauntingly. "That you were in a prisoner's room talking to him and hanging out? Won't that get you sent to the Russian front?"
Gilbert was still frowning, but now he was more uncertain. He opened the door again, and said, "I have to go."
Antonio shut it again and tried to put the chocolate bar into his pocket. "Aw, come on now. Take the chocolate at least. As payment." He wrestled with Gilbert, trying to push it into his pocket, and Gilbert resisted very strongly. With deft fingers, Antonio managed to pluck Gilbert's wallet just before he was pushed away. He hid it behind the chocolate bar.
"I said enough!" Gilbert shouted. His gaze was fierce and warning. He looked like he was going to continue, so Antonio laughed to halt the tension.
"All right, all right. I get it," he said, keeping the chocolate bar and wallet close to him. "I'm sorry. Forget it. Forget I said anything." He waved his free hand.
Gilbert didn't say anything more, and without Antonio near him, he opened the door and stormed out. His hard footsteps echoed down the hallway, and Antonio took some pleasure in hearing them fade away.
Antonio whistled, and revealed the wallet behind the chocolate bar. He opened it up and peered inside. He smiled.
The forgery team was based in the recreation hall, but while they were not at work, Francis distracted the Germans by teaching cooking classes to the other prisoners. There was a large chalkboard displayed in the front—the entire room was set up a bit like a school classroom. Francis had written the recipe for ratatouille and was explaining it in great detail. So much detail. Trying very hard to bore the German officers listening in. And it was definitely working.
"Now there are many ways in which you can cut the vegetables, you see. There is sliced—thin or thick. But there are also other shapes. Now," he flipped the board over and began drawing. "Let me explain to you the benefits of cutting vegetables irregularly…"
The door to the room opened, and Francis spun around to see who it was. It took a moment, but then he cheered, "oh, Toni!" Antonio gave him a courteous wave as he found his usual seat. "You'll find pen and paper at your desk. Feliciano has been taking notes for you. I went over gardening earlier."
Antonio sat down and made a grand show of looking very studious. Feliciano passed him some notes.
A German officer, who'd been scoffing in the corner for about fifteen minutes, peered over Antonio's shoulder and said, "are you prisoners really so bored to find this show interesting?"
Antonio mocked surprise. "Why yes! You should stick around. Maybe you'd learn something."
The German rolled his eyes. "No thanks. I'd rather waste my time someplace else." He gave another judgmental look around the room, and took his time exiting. Once he was gone, Francis's speech faltered and he looked to the window. But they had to wait for Lovino's go-ahead, so he kept talking and talking. The others obediently continuing to take notes.
And about five minutes later there was a tap on the window and Francis dropped his chalk on the board. He took a seat at one of the long tables, and the others were fast to lift a board up and retrieve the forgery work. Arthur was suddenly inside and looming over his shoulder.
Francis pulled the documents away from his face and passed them over. "Ah, Arthur. These are the permissions to cross the border," he said smoothly and turned around with curious eyes. "Tell me which one's the forgery."
Arthur glanced at him briefly and made serious work of comparing the two slips of paper. After a moment, he waved the left. "This one."
Francis smiled. "They both are."
Matthew rounded their conversation and looked at the documents himself. "Oh, very good Francis! Don't you think so, Arthur?"
Arthur gave a fast nod and handed the papers back. He was avoiding eye contact with Francis because it was obvious he was expecting praise.
But Francis knew this game so he moved onto the next subject: a problem with the plan. That was something Arthur would listen to. "So what's holding us up now is the travel permit. We have no idea what they look like."
Antonio interrupted their conversation at that just moment—though he'd been listening in for quite some time waiting for this moment. "There you are, Francis. I have just what you need," he said and pulled a travel permit from Gilbert's wallet and dropped it on the table. "And uh, a military identity card." He dropped that too. "And…hmm," he tilted his head trying to translate the German.
Matthew snatched it from his fingers and showed it to Arthur. "Arthur, this grants permission to be on Reich property!"
"Right," Antonio replied and continued milling through the wallet. "And here's a ticket to Oden. And this is what appears to be the commandant's assignments for day and night of this week." He smiled and dropped the wallet onto the table.
Francis was wide-eyed and staring obsessively over the documents on the table. Arthur and Matthew were still awing at the document they held in their hands.
Slowly, Arthur turned to him, and he couldn't help but say, "excellent job, Carriedo. Really, excellent."
Antonio nodded his head. "Thank you. All in a day's work." He pointed to the wallet and added, "take good care of that."
Matthew picked it up and blurted, "Toni, where did you get this?"
Antonio hesitated with his response, but decided on a smile. "It's on a loan." He gave a short wave to everyone at the table, and walked away.
A/N: Thank you for reading! If some of you are reading my other ongoing fic "Disegno e Colore", just know that I'm gonna get back to it really soon! I just had to take a break before I delved into the last arc :')