Author's Note: Once again, thanks to all of you who favorited, alerted, and reviewed ^_^ Honestly, I wasn't expecting quite that many of you, considering we're only two chapters in…. So thank you very much!

Oh, and unless I can get another chapter out by Tuesday, I wouldn't expect another update until the 18th. I'll be in Colorado without my computer for a while, so I apologize.

Disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters are property of Himaruya, and not me.

~X~

Arthur had been sure to stay clear of Francis' corner over the next several days. It had been difficult to find a sufficient distraction, but he somehow managed.

Though, Arthur could now say that he had broken into a library, and had stolen from it. In his mind, he justified it by saying he would return the books as soon as he finished reading them. He probably wouldn't. It would actually be a small miracle if he returned them at all.

Fortunately, Thursday arrived relatively quickly. The day he got one step closer to freedom. He waited patiently for Andrea Parks to arrive at her intended place of death; though he wasn't sure why she was going to be at a church on a Thursday afternoon. Perhaps she knew what was going to happen to her.

Arthur found himself hiding up in the rafters, keeping out of view when she arrived. He felt completely cold towards her; Andrea was nothing more than a name and a face to him.

It was a pretty face, no doubting that. Long red hair with light blue eyes set in a heart-shaped face. Maybe she looked a bit childish, but then she was barely eighteen. There was something about the set of her brow that would make most people worry. She looked innocent, and scared.

Slowly, she made her way to the farthest pew back, as close to the wall as she could. There, she pulled her knees to her chest, and generally huddled in on herself.

A small frown turned Arthur's lips. He wouldn't be able to get a clean shot of her like this.

In the back of his mind, Arthur wondered when he became so inhuman. He couldn't even muster up the decency to feel even a little pity for this woman. He could care less if she was upset; he just wanted to get another name crossed off his list.

There would be another five minutes before she was to die. Hopefully, Andrea would move enough that he wouldn't have to use multiple arrows on her. Carefully, he began climbing across the rafters to get a better angle.

Well, that wasn't the only reason he was moving. Arthur needed a distraction so he wouldn't keep staring at Andrea. He couldn't look at her; it made him feel ill to watch her shoulders shake with silent sobs.

"I'm sorry, God," she said faintly. "I'm so sorry, I really didn't mean to…"

Arthur could feel a knife twist in his gut as he gingerly eased himself across the rough wood. He almost snapped right then and there. It took almost everything he had to not take her life, if for no other reason than to end whatever misery she was going through. He didn't want to listen to it.

But, he would have to be patient. Two more minutes until he was allowed. He would have to listen to her prayers for another two minutes.

"If I had known," she continued. "If I had known that he would have done that, I never would have said those things. I didn't know he would take his own life, I swear!" As she continued, Andrea's voice got louder and more hysterical. "Honest, if I could take it back, I would!"

Arthur tensed up, starting to feel just as wound up as Andrea. How much longer was he going to have to hear this? One minute? A minute and a half? He felt like he was going to break.

The tension was running high enough in the room that Arthur vaguely worried that he may snap.

Finally, Andrea unfurled. Her arms unlocked from her knees, and her legs dangled loose over the edge of the bench. In her hand, a small glass vial glinted in the light. "Forgive me," she whispered, barely loud enough for Arthur to hear. Her tear-stained face turned up towards Arthur.

A chill went through him. That had to be his cue. With barely shaking hands, he readied his shot. Her cause of death was going to be poison. The seemingly empty vial pretty much screamed it.

He barely registered the sound of the church door opening, and then closing. If he noticed whatsoever, he put it instantly out of his mind.

Arthur was almost sorry about killing her. She was young, and she was full of remorse. If she were to be offered a deal, Arthur had no doubts that she would take it. No one deserved that.

Once Arthur got his aim, he closed his eyes tightly. Though he had many deaths to his name, he had never killed in a church. Never killed someone this young. He visibly flinched at the snap of the bow, and refused to watch the arrow hit his target.

His eyes remained firmly closed until he heard the sound of her body hit the bench, and the quiet noise of breaking glass.

He had to take a shaky breath to try and pull himself together. Arthur didn't want to break; not at this stage of the game.

Often, he had been told stories—mostly by Vash—about Death's Assassin's who made it through their entire debts, but faltered on the last one. That minor break had been enough to damn them. Arthur wasn't going to do that. He refused to let his efforts be reduced to nothing.

He had to take several deep breaths before he could swing himself down from the rafters. Once he managed to get back to relative normal, he swung down from the rafters. The sound of his boots on the floor reverberated through the building, and brought Arthur a hint of comfort.

As he approached the body, he started to feel less sick. This was routine. Having to listen to Andrea's prayers and apologies had gotten under his skin. Now that she was just as dead as anyone, he could shove that all out of his mind.

As his fingers wrapped tightly around the arrow's shaft, he heard another set of footsteps, and a voice he was uncomfortably familiar with.

"So my assumptions of you being an angel were a touch off, then?"

Arthur froze. This couldn't end well. After taking a moment to re-gather himself, he responded. "Francis, if you know what's good for you, you will leave this place and forget anything you think you saw."

"And if I don't know what is good for me?" Francis retorted. "I would like to know why you had to kill this child." He got unnecessarily close to Andrea then; examining her closely. "There's no blood…?" Blue eyes flicked between the girl and her killer. "Arthur, what exactly is going on?"

He grit his teeth and yanked the arrow out; releasing the girl's soul. Arthur really didn't want to have to kill Francis on top of Andrea today. "Take my advice and get out of here," Arthur snapped. "If you value your life, you'll do as I say. I'm not kidding, Francis." His eyes met the others with a glare. "Get out."

Francis seemed unimpressed. "Or what? You'll kill me like you killed her?"

"You say that like I had a bloody choice in the matter!" As soon as these words passed his lips, Arthur would have given anything to take them back. The last thing he needed was Francis knowing anything more.

Shock passed over Francis' face for a split second. "Then why did you?" he asked, concern tinting his tone.

He could feel himself breaking apart. All the tension, all the lies, everything was beginning to unravel him. "Just go," Arthur repeated. "I'm not talking about it with you. We aren't friends, remember?"

Francis appraised the teen for a moment before reaching out to grab his wrist and began to drag him away from the body. "You're right. We're not friends. But as a decent human being, I'm concerned. So we'll leave this building, and you will tell me what's going on. Understand?"

Arthur wanted to resist. He wanted to fight off the street artist more than anything. But, he found that his body didn't respond, and was allowing Francis to lead him out of the church.

~X~

Somehow, they found themselves back in the alley from several days before. Once again, Francis motioned to the chair in the alcove. "Take a seat. I'm going to call the police, and then we're going to discuss this."

He rolled his eyes. "You make it sound as if I am a child who misbehaved," Arthur muttered as Francis returned to the street, cell phone already to his ear.

If he wanted to, Arthur could have run. There was a very good chance that he would have gotten away if he did so. Francis was likely distracted enough that by the time he noticed Arthur was gone, he would be beyond finding.

For some reason, though, he didn't. He took a seat in the worn wooden chair, and waited patiently for the Frenchman's return; silently dreading whatever was about to happen.

"It was ruled a suicide. They found traces of cyanide in a bottle she had," Francis announced as he returned to the alley. Out of what may have been habit, he tied his longer hair back in a low ponytail.

Arthur looked up, and nodded. "I saw the vial in her hand. Are you going to continue on this ridiculous tirade about how I killed her?"

"What exactly are you?" he asked instead of answering. "I can touch you, so you aren't a spirit. If you're killing people, I highly doubt you're an angel. But you have no shadow, which means you aren't alive. So, Arthur what are you?"

A wry grin tugged his lips. "I can't tell you." He was attempting to keep his answers as short as he could. The more he told Francis, the higher the chance was that he would die before he was actually supposed to.

He sighed impatiently. "Why did you kill her, then? And don't tell me you didn't, because I watched you."

Arthur shook his head slowly. "She was dead before I got there. Cyanide. Which also means it wasn't my fault."

"Are you going to give me a straight answer, or am I going to have to figure it out on my own? Because I promise that I will learn your secrets whether you tell me or not."

"The likelihood of you knowing in time is smaller than cheating Death," Arthur bit back. "Don't even bother, Francis. You're almost out of time as is. Don't waste it trying to learn my useless secrets."

There was a definite pause as Francis absorbed what Arthur had said, and Arthur realized exactly what he had just said.

"You're a Grim Reaper," Francis finally said with resignation. "So I am to die soon, then? Is that why you were here a week ago?"

"I'm not a Grim Reaper," Arthur lied weakly, his hands clenching into fists. "Fine; I'll admit I'm not alive, and I'll take responsibility for Ms. Parks, but I'm not a Grim Reaper."

Francis eyed him skeptically. "You may as well have just told me right now. You won't admit you're a liar unless you're trying to hide the larger lie."

"Don't talk about me like you know me," Arthur said. "We met once, and we've never had a decent conversation."

"I am an artist, Arthur. I make my living by paying attention to people, and mon cher, I see your type on a daily basis. You and your pride will only back down if you're afraid."

'Well, if he already knows, it's not like I can do anything. He's already damned,' he reasoned. "I'm not afraid for myself," Arthur hissed. "I'm afraid for you, you idiot. Your life is on the line, not mine."

Francis looked at him, likely trying to figure out if the Brit had finally snapped, or if he was being honest. "I'm right, then," he said, assuming the latter was correct.

Arthur shrugged, leaning back in the old chair. "No, but your close enough that I'm not going to bother correcting you. If you say anything, though, I will kill you. Just so you're aware."

"And you're afraid for me?" he asked coyly. "That's rather sweet of you. I didn't expect that from you. So are you going to be honest from now on? Tell me all of your secrets?"

"Why the hell would I do that? I still don't know you." Arthur grimaced; he was pretty much throwing the last ten years away because of this man. He didn't know why, and it was getting on his nerves.

Francis raised a brow. "Then get to know me. I'd like to know you, so why don't we make it a mutual thing?"

"Because it's completely useless," he argued. "What does it matter in the end?"

"It's not the length of the life, but what was done with it." A quick grin turned his lips. "So question for a question? That seems fair."

Arthur sighed. "Fine. Whatever. Ask away." It wasn't like it could get any worse at this rate.

"Am I going to die soon?" he asked bluntly.

Ok, it just got worse. He could probably lie, but then… Arthur was tired of lying. If Francis already knew, he may as well just tell him everything. "July fourteenth," he confirmed. "You're my last kill."

Something akin to devastation split his features. "That soon?" he asked softly.

"You have almost three months. That's plenty of time," Arthur disagreed. "Anything else you want to know about this topic while we're here?"

There was a lengthy pause as Francis thought. Panic was still the dominant emotion on his face, but Arthur could see he was trying to fight it. "Is there… Is there any way to avoid it?" he finally asked, his voice a near-inaudible whisper.

The punk felt genuine pity for the older man. He was faced with the prospect of his imminent demise, and it was obviously difficult for him. But, that wouldn't change the answer.

"No."