Chapter 3

Emergency

Arthur yawned as he stared at the words in his book. Being a high school librarian, he ended up reading a lot, so most of the time he'd end up bringing home the occasional good book. He glanced up every few moments to make sure that his twin seven year old boys weren't destroying something. But each time he'd look up, they'd still be playing with their toy soldiers that Arthur had made for them.

Arthur heard the sound of his Frenchman running towards the living room from down the hall, so out of reflex, he shot his head up, tensed, and made sure that Francis wasn't about to tackle him off of the couch. But instead of tackling Arthur, Francis ran by the young twins, scooping up Alfred in his arms on the way by, and lying Alfred on his back on the seat next to Arthur. Arthur returned to his reading.

Alfred began giggling non stop which meant one thing- Francis was tickling him.

Francis laughed. "You think you can escape the Tickle Monster? Well, you can't!" Arthur's crazy husband exclaimed, purposely over exaggerating his accent.

Alfred replied with a short, high pitched scream and more laughing, which brought a smile to Arthur's face. Arthur lowered and closed his book. Yes, the book's plot was finally starting, and the action was picking up, but he had to watch this. It was always so adorable.

Francis began to make fake "roaring" sounds as he tickled helpless Little Alfred.

Brave Little Matthew ran up from behind Francis and began smacking him in the back.

"Oh, no!" Francis yelled loudly. "Matthew is attacking my weak spot!" Francis made fake grunts of pain as he fell onto his side and rolled onto his back. Matthew continued playfully smacking Francis on the chest, and Alfred jumped off the couch and joined him. Arthur's smile grew larger, and he let out a loud chuckle.

Francis shot his right arm up, holding out his hand to Arthur. "Mon cher!" Francis paused. "Help me!" He pleaded.

Arthur shook his head. "No thanks. I'm siding with the boys on this one."

"But, Arthur!" Francis yelled. "They're attacking me!"

Arthur faked a scowl. "You started the fight."

"S'il vous plaît!" Francis begged.

"No." Arthur said, forcing his voice to sound monotone.

Francis made more fake and over dramatic sounds of pain. "But… there… killing… me…"

Arthur gave his husband an unamused look and said nothing.

"Please… mercy…" Francis said before exhaling and playing dead.

Matthew and Alfred stopped hitting their French father and stared at him.

"Good job, boys." Arthur praised. "Now let's just see how long Papa can hold his breath." But Francis continued his act, and held his breath. So, naturally, Arthur uncrossed his legs and pushed on Francis' abdomen with his left foot.

Francis slowly exhaled, glaring up at Arthur.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"You had to ruin it?" Francis teased.

Arthur gave Francis a slight smile. "Guess what, boys."

"What?" Alfred and Matthew asked simultaneously.

Arthur's slight smile turned into a devious one. "Your Papa," He began, leaning forward and setting the book that was on his lap onto the dark brown cushion beside him, "is also ticklish."

"He is?" Alfred asked, mimicking the same smile.

Francis' eyes widened. "Don't you do it."

"Yes he is." Arthur got down on the ground, sitting on his knees. "Right around the neck." Arthur attacked, quickly tickling Francis around the neck. Francis' body tensed and he tried to push Arthur away from him, but it didn't work, he was laughing too hard. Arthur saw Francis give him a quick glare as he tried to tickle him back, but he couldn't reach Arthur, who was also laughing.

The Englishman suddenly stopped, jerking his head up and looking at the wall across from him. "Bollocks." Arthur mumbled under his breath.

"What?" Francis asked, slowing down his breathing.

Arthur shook his head. "Nothing, I just left some paperwork on my desk…" Arthur quickly turned his head to the twins. "Don't say that word."

"We know, Daddy." Matthew replied.

"Yeah, you said that last week." Alfred agreed with his brother.

"And the week before." Matthew added.

"I really need to work on my cursing, don't I?" Arthur murmured to himself.

"Oui." Francis said in agreement.

Arthur scowled at his Frenchman. "You're one to talk? You curse in French all the time!"

"At least they can't understand it." Francis replied with a smile. "So, that paperwork, is it important?"

"Yes," Arthur began, looking up to the ceiling in thought. "but I'm pretty sure I can deal with it in the morning… No…" Arthur closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"No, what?" Francis asked.

Arthur sighed. "I need to go and get it. It's due in the morning…"

"Wow, you sound like a high schooler all over again." Francis teased.

"Yes, but if I don't turn it in, I'll get fired, not a zero on the assignment." Arthur moaned. "I have to go and get it."

"How long do you think you'll be?" Francis asked.

"Why?" Arthur replied.

"Well, I have to head to work in an hour. How long do you think you'll be?" Francis explained.

"Oh, probably thirty minutes at the most." Arthur said, standing.

Francis smiled. "Alright."

"Wait, where are you going?" Alfred asked.

"To work." Arthur responded, grabbing his wallet and keys off of the counter.

"But didn't you come home from work already?" Matthew replied.

Arthur glanced over to his sons. "Yes, but I left something really important there. I need to go and get it."

"How long will you be gone?" Alfred asked in almost a concerned tone.

"I'll be back in a little bit." Arthur reassured his son.

.

Four hours later

Francis paced back and forth in his living room. Arthur had called four hours ago and told him that he found his paperwork and was going to stop by the gas station and put more gas in his car because it was running low. That should have only have taken a few minutes. So where the hell was he?

Francis called his work and told them that he wouldn't be able to come because Arthur hadn't returned yet. Where the hell was he? Francis put his phone to his ear and listened to it hum, tapping his foot on the wood floor. Once again, Arthur didn't pick up his phone. It went to his voicemail after a few rings. So, once again, Francis left a message.

"Arthur, mon cher, please pick up the phone, you're scaring me and the kids… Je t'aime… Francis…" He closed his phone, looking up to the ceiling.

Francis ran his fingers through his long blonde hair, sighing through his nose. "Boys!" He called. "Get your shoes on."

"Okay…" Alfred replied in an awkward tone. Matthew didn't respond.

Francis knew what gas station Arthur would be at, so he was going there.

"Where are we going?" Matthew asked, walking down the hall.

"To the gas station." Francis replied.

"Can I get a snack while we're there?" Alfred asked eagerly.

Francis grabbed the keys to his car. "Maybe."

"That always means no…" Alfred murmured to himself.

"Just come on." Francis ordered, pacing quickly to the door and opening it. He closed and locked it after all three of them walked onto the porch.

The car ride was silent, which was a surprise to Francis. He had expected his sons to be endlessly asking him questions, but they remained silent. Maybe they shared the same fear as Francis. He turned on his blinker on when he neared the left turn to the gas station. His chest tightened when he saw Arthur's car sitting in the parking lot… Alone… Empty…

Francis pulled his car into an empty parking spot with a sigh. "Stay here." Francis told his sons.

"But-" Alfred began.

"Just stay here." Francis ordered before getting out of the car and locking it behind him. Slowly, he made his way to the car still sitting at the pump, forgotten. He peered in through the window, being cautious not to touch any part of the car so his fingerprints wouldn't be on it. Inside the car he saw Arthur's cell phone. Merde! Francis looked to the gas station… It was trashed. Francis went running to it, fear rising in his chest. He saw two shattered windows before he even go to the door.

Looking in through the glass, Francis could see toppled over aisles, things thrown and pushed onto the floor, and… blood… Francis shuddered at the sight. Just the thought of Arthur being hurt… Francis shook his head, trying to push that thought out of his mind, and prayed that the blood he saw didn't belong to his Englishman.

.

Ring, Ring… Ring, Ring…

Alistair sighed angrily, I'm at work! Who the hell is calling me? Alistair looked down to his phone and at the caller I.D. It was Francis.

"What the hell, Francis? Shouldn't you be at work?" Alistair exclaimed.

"Oui, but-"

"Then why are you calling? I know I'm just a night guard, but I need to keep this damn job!" Alistair interrupted.

"I'm not at work tonight because I haven't seen Arthur in four hours!" Francis yelled.

Alistair stared forward. "What?"

"He went to the school because he left some important paperwork there," the Frenchman began, "after he found it, he went to the gas station to get some gas and… hasn't returned…"

Alistair stayed completely still, barely even breathing, not saying a word.

"Ali?" Francis asked.

Alistair swallowed hard. "Art is… Missing?" The words that escaped his own lips hurt, but he had to make sure he was understanding this correctly.

Francis didn't respond.

"Is Art missing or am I misunderstanding this?" Alistair snapped.

"He's missing." Francis murmured on the other side of the phone.

"Then what the hell are you calling me for?" Alistair hissed, pulling a cigarette out of his chest pocket and lighting it, "Why aren't you calling the police?"

"I already did." Francis replied.

Alistair inhaled the smoke from his cigarette, calming himself. "Okay… thank you for calling." He exhaled. "I'll call my brothers for you, you just…" Alistair moaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, "talk to the police."

"You sure?" Francis asked.

"Yeah, you just talk to the police." Alistair mumbled.

"Okay, well au revoir." Francis replied.

"Bye." Alistair said, hanging up.

.

Four Hours Earlier

Arthur pressed the "1" button on his cell phone and placed it to his ear. He listened to it hum, waiting for Francis to pick up.

"What do you want?" Francis teased.

"I'm letting you know that I found my bloody paperwork and headed to the gas station." Arthur replied.

"Why?" Francis asked.

Arthur began driving towards the gas station. "Because I decided to procrastinate coming home and seeing your face, why the hell do you think?"

"You need gas?" Francis asked.

"Good job, Francis!" Arthur exclaimed in an over excited tone. "You're not a complete idiot!" Arthur teased, smiling.

Arthur heard Francis sigh on the other side of the phone. "You're so nice to me, you know that?"

"What did I say about bad sarcasm?" Arthur asked.

"How long do you think you'll be?" Francis said, changing the subject.

Arthur shook his head. "Not long, it's just down the road, I can already see it."

"Alright, be home soon, I need to get to work."

"I know. See you it in a little bit, Francis." Arthur responded.

"See you then, love you." Francis said.

"Love you too." Arthur replied, handing up.

He pulled into the gas station, placing his phone on the consul. He got out of the car, now standing by the pump. He placed the pump in the car and turned to the credit card swiper. It was out of order. Arthur moaned and sighed as he turned away from the credit card insert. He just wanted to go home. Arthur walked away from the pump and to the building in front of him. He ran his fingers through his hair with his right hand, and opened the door with his left.

"Afternoon, sir." The cashier greeted as Arthur stepped into the medium sized building.

"Afternoon." Arthur yawned, ignoring a strange feeling.

"What can I do for you?" The cashier questioned with a strange smile.

Arthur gave the young man a suspicious look before replying. "Twenty on pump three."

The clerk tilted his head. "That all for you today, sir?"

"Yes, sir." Arthur said, pulling out his credit card and handing it to the clerk. Arthur glanced out the front doors glass to see a man standing by his car. A man who gave him a horrible feeling. Arthur narrowed his eyes at the figure before shaking his head. It's nothing, Arthur. It's just a man. Calm down. But he didn't listen to himself. He could feel his pulse quicken slightly, and he felt sweat collect on his forehead. He patted his pockets for his cell phone, but of course, he left it in his car. Arthur turned to the cashier. "May I use your phone?" Arthur asked kindly, nodding his head toward the phone on the wall.

"Hm?" The cashier hummed.

"That phone, may I use it?" Arthur restated.

The man glanced back at it. "Why?"

Arthur wanted to kick this man. Just give me the bloody phone! Arthur yelled in his mind. He cleared his throat. "There's a suspicious figure out there and I don't feel safe. May I use your phone to make a call?"

The clerk shook his head. "No."

Arthur tried to make his voice sound neutral, but it ended up sounding furious. "Care to tell me why?"

The man shrugged. "Not really."

Arthur grit his teeth to keep himself from yelling. "Is it out of order?" Arthur hissed.

The young cashier glanced at the phone, then back to Arthur. "Um…" He smiled, "only for you, Arthur."

Arthur's eyes widened as he backed away from the counter. This had to be some kind of joke, right? Arthur looked to the front door as it opened. That "suspicious figure" walked in, swiftly locking the door behind him. The man smiled at Arthur. "Afternoon, Arthur."

Arthur sprinted in the direction of the back door, not caring to reply. As he ran, he slid his left hand against every product on the shelf that was arm level. People needed to know that he was here. He needed to leave evidence. He reached the end of the aisle, and a gunshot from his left greeted him. Luckily, it missed. Arthur turned around and ran in the other direction, knocking down the aisle so it would hit the man who shot at him. He wasn't really sure what he was doing, but all he knew was that he had to get out of the damn gas station. Another gunshot. It missed again, but it shattered the glass door to the cooler beside him. Arthur reached in as he ran, grabbing the first bottle he saw, which was a bottle of whiskey.

The cashier appeared out of nowhere, tackling Arthur, breaking another cooler door and some of the bottles inside. Luckily for Arthur, he grew up with his brothers, which meant he knew how to ground fight. Before anything, he smashed the bottle of whiskey against the cashier's jaw, then followed by elbowing him in the nose, probably breaking it. The cashier was dazed by the two hits, and Arthur kicked the young man, who must be barely twenty, off of him. Arthur stood again, and ran to the front door. Out of an impulse, he purposely cut open his hand with the broken bottle that he was still carrying. He sprinted by the white front counter, smearing his blood across it. People needed to know that he was here. He needed to leave evidence.

Another gunshot. It missed Arthur and shattered the glass of one of the front doors, which was exactly what Arthur was hoping for. He darted out the metal doorframe, smearing blood on the door that was still in tact. He dashed for his car, the gunshots behind him ceasing. He tried desperately to open his car door, but it was locked, and the keys were inside. Rage filled the Englishman. "How stupid am I?" Arthur screamed as he went running for the road. Maybe he could get someone to stop and help. As he ran, he streaked more blood on the windows of his car.

The blonde Englishman yelled and screamed, waving his hands as he got to the side of the road. A black car rolled up beside him. Finally! Arthur thought, I'm saved! He opened the back door and jumped into the vehicle before it even stopped moving. "To the police station!" Arthur ordered. "Please!" He begged. But the car didn't move. The man in the front passenger seat turned around, pointing a gun to Arthur's forehead. Arthur froze. "How stupid am I?" Arthur mumbled under his breath, staring up at the handgun. The door to his left opened, and that "suspicious figure" sat beside him, pulling out his own gun and placing it on Arthur's temple. All of the doors locked, and the car began moving.

"We gotta give ya credit," The suspicious figure began, looking Arthur in the eye, "you were harder to catch than we thought."

Arthur didn't care to reply, he just stared at the man with dark brown hair and a long scar traveling down the left side of his face and across his jawline.


Translations:

Mon cher- My dear (French)

S'il vous plaît- Please (French)

Je t'aime- I love you (French)

Merde- Dammit/Shit/Fuck (French)

Au revoir- Goodbye (French)

Other Notes:

If you've read my parallel story Sollen Wir Tanzen? then you already know/hate "The Scarred Man" but here he is again and you will be seeing more of him (unfortunately).

There was a small part in Alistair's view, but don't worry, you'll see more of him.