I hope you like it, cause I really like this story. Sorry for any grammatical mistakes. I need a betareader... for many of my stories
Disclaimer: I don't own APH
Romano would learn of the crap hours teachers had to deal with very quickly, but being called to school at 2 A.M. was ridiculous.
Italian had gone to the refuge of his bed a little before 12. Now, being in a secret service and a mafioso for much of his life, Romano was used to having to be a sensitive sleeper and late nights. Most days, he was lucky to get 4 hours. Unfortunately, his recent injuries always made sleeping and lying on bed uncomfortable. He had thought that he would be so tired, it wouldn't matter. For the most part, Romano was right. It wasn't pain that awakened him.
At the the tender hour of 2:06, the wonderful buzzing that should only have been ringing in his ears in another 3 hours sounded. In near seconds, Romano's annoyed face popped out of the pile of thick comforters. Snapping open the phone to the blinding white screen, he growled as Romano put to his ear. "What?" he demanded. All his team should have known to get the Italian up with the scent of fresh food, and yet, all that was around was the cold darkness.
"M-Mr. Chevelle?" whimpered the Vice-Principal. Groaning, Romano mumbled an apology.
"What, Signor Nation?" asked the brunette, rubbing his temples. He had so many better things to do, and hell was waiting for him tomorrow in the form of a classroom. "U-um, it's just, I wanted to make sure y-you were a-alive. And i-if s-so, p-p-please come to Hetalia High as soon as possible," quivered the usually confident man, hastily hanging up.
Romano froze for a split second, green eyes wide with realization. Dumbly, the phone stayed to his ear, just for a second, before slipping into the well-trained, experienced agent he was. Shoving off the heavy covers with ease, Romano leaped out of the comfort of his warm bed. He slammed his wardrobe doors open, quickly collecting a shirt and pants, which were on Romano's person in seconds. Rushing to the bathroom, he carefully placed the darkly colored contacts onto his irises. With a few blinks, he confirmed they were secure and properly placed.
Grabbing his bag, the brunet stuffed the necessary objects into his leather carrier. Papers from the principal, his FBI badge, even the Italian's precious .40 glock 27 was dropped into the bag and rushed out of the house with barely both shoes on his feet. Shoving the key into his car. Romano sped out of his driveway and sped through the abandoned streets to what was probably a scene of a murder. And on his second day. Cursing, the brunet stepped on the gas.
"Damn it!" spat Romano, staring at the mutilated body of one Mr. Simmons. He was a normal teacher, watching normal porn and trying to get the most money he could squeeze out of the school. He had seemed like a bitter dick when the Italian met him, and he was still a dick, but Romano couldn't help but feel frustrated. ID scanning was increased, so the murderer, since no records of anyone but Mr. Simmons were written, must have snuck in somehow.
Pathetically, all he could do was stare at the blood that decorated the wall. How many times had he seen the red? How many more times must that happen? Was he cursed for the scarlet to follow him all his life. The poor, torn apart body of the algebra teacher sagged, drenched in his own blood. No blade would do this damage, which was equivalent to a cannon. In all probability, based on the blood and lack of harm to anything other than the person, it was done by hand. Grimacing, he walked out, glancing at the still hacking vice-principal. He had been throwing up his stomach ever since Romano had arrived.
Police had already arrived, taping off the body and room. Flashes lit the corner of his eye. Sighing, he walked over to Scott and Elizaveta. Gilbert, being a math related teacher, wasn't called. The Principal was worried it would frighten him off right after joining. Scott had his eyes narrowed in irritation, nose scrunched disdainfully. "Couldn't we have been called at a more decent time? Why couldn't the bastard have been killed later, so we would already be at school and not have to drive here so God damn early in the morning," Scott complained. Romano grunted in understanding.
"Based on the blood's dryness, and very faint smell, I'd say 8-10 hours as the time of death. I'll go talk with the police. Elizaveta, call Gilbert and Scott can contact the rest of the team. No way are they being let off this. We need to get as much as we can before the trail runs cold again," ordered Romano, walking back into the room.
Huffing, Scott flipped open his temporary phone, clicking the speed dial and onto Lars. Elizaveta did the same, selecting Gilbert. In seconds, the Hungarian had to remove the phone from her ear. The self-proclaimed 'Prussian' was screaming about how early it was. "Damn it Gilbert! You think I don't know that?! I actually had to get dragged out of bed! There's been another one. Romano said for you not to come now, but at the normal time. Here are the details…"
Casually, Romano walked up to the nearest officer. He had done this often to politzia in Italy and the ones in America. Without making direct eye contact or even declaring his presence, the Italian asked quietly, but in a slightly deeper voice, "Time of death?" It was easy to forge, a superior's voice. They always sounded too haughty and arrogant. "Approximately 9 and a half hours sir," answered the officer, much to Romano's pleasure. "Any signs of breaking in or struggle?" he asked. Dutifully, the youthful policeman replied, "In the next room, the window's lock is broken. Other than that, and the body, nothing is different."
"And the cameras?" Romano suggested. He had paid very good attention in the speech about the added 'security', although it seems to have all gone down the drain. "They have cameras?" the officer asked, turning around. Swearing, The brunet ducked out of sight, under a desk. It wasn't very covering, but it was definitely enough to fool the policemen.
Silently, he followed him as the officer requested the camera and audio tapes from the principal, who happily obliged.
The murderer wore gloves, as no prints were on the camera. Curiously, Romano stood behind the sitting man, watching on a school computer as Mr. Simmons re entered his classroom. It then becomes obvious that he had forgotten his ID. The Italian could only shake his head, as the camera was suddenly turned, and Mr. Simmons was out of view. That meant the killer knew about the repercussions and steps taken by the principle, which not even the cops were aware of, to catch the murderer. They heard a light conversation, seemingly casual before taking a turn for the worse. The voice was light and high, and Romano couldn't tell if it was a boy or girl. That itself was very rare.
Then, what remained were squishing and grotesque spewing. A soft, maniacal chuckle filled the room, quickly turning into ecstatic chuckles, and happy purring. The killer was obviously ill in the head, not even slowing down, but speeding up as more snapping and muted screams filled the room. In minutes, something heavy fell down, most likely Mr. Simmon's corpse. Cause of death: Gutted by hand.
The killer skipped to the camera, returning it to the original angle. He/She was careful not to get caught on video. The murderer then hummed a happy tune, walking out. Romano bowed his head in anger, grinding his teeth.
Same Day 6:30 A.M.
Most of the awoken teaching staff had left 4 hours previous to catch some well needed sleep. The only ones that remained was Romano, Elizaveta, Scott, and that Spanish teacher, Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. The Italian could swear he's met him before, but all that comes up is his babysitter he had when he was 9, because Feliciano had just been born.
Elizaveta had already questioned him. He was in some shock. Apparently, he had been close to several of the past victims, and it was taking a toll on his mind. For the last 3 hours, he had motionlessly been sitting in the teachers' lounge, on the couch.
The group of agents were crowded by the coffee machine, sipping cups. Scott, who was very keen on sleeping after spending 2 years without a bed, was absolutely pissed. He could handle late nights, but early mornings were brutal. It was already his 3 cup with alcohol. Elizaveta seemed completely well. She, Romano, and Xiang could handle sleepless days easily. The Italian was sipping his coffee, glaring at the Spaniard teacher. It was annoying him that Romano couldn't remember anything beyond his babysitter. It was even more irritating that the man was just sitting there in front of him!
Growling, he slammed down cup (Elizaveta thanking the heaven it didn't break upon impact), and walked over to the fixed body of Antonio. Without any hesitation, he pulled the teacher up by his collar. The spaniard's previously blank green orbs were now wide with shock. They glistened with confusion. Frustrated, Romano shouted in his face. "Wake the hell up, fucking bastardo!"
He was frozen for several minutes. Elizaveta was about to go over and slap her chief's head, when the spaniard suddenly pulled Romano into an embrace. The Italian's face bloomed red cursing. "What the fuck are you doing?!" he demanded. "Thank you," the other replied, followed by silence. Struggling for another minute, he decided it would be better if Antonio got a grip, and not end up even worse with a fractured arm (or two).
"What'd i miss?" chuckled Gilbert. Romano hissed, and Elizaveta hit him over the head. "What the hell?!" he shrieked. The Hungarian lectured him on how to ask questions, then shoot, and that his personality would be the death of him. "Yeah, by you," he grumbled. The brunette hit him again.
Scott looked out the window, seeing Gilbert's blue hyundai, along with several others and a dozen riding in. "The staff is arriving," reported O'Brien. Romano glanced at the parking lot. "Get off," the chief commanded. It took a minute of unwillingness on the Spaniard's part, but eventually he pulled himself away. Sighing, Romano straightened out his clothing, and went back to the coffee machine. Grabbing another mug, he poured in the dark liquid. Not even caring about Antonio's preferences, he added 3 spoonfuls of sugar and a dab of half n half. Taking his own mug with him, Romano walked back to the still sitting Spaniard.
"Drink," he ordered. Wearily, Antonio looked at the offered coffee. Hesitatingly, he took, smiling in gratitude. Pink dusted the Italian's cheeks, and hurried to lift his own mug to his mouth, gulping it down. Antonio soon joined him.
"Oh, you chaps are still here?" asked Arthur Kirkland, immediately walking to the kettle. It was probably because he was British, but the blonde brat loved his tea. He was also Scott's younger brother, so the agents were on alert. "My, being woken so early. I guess that killer really hates teacher," joked the Brit. Gilbert snickered, drinking his own black coffee, but other than that, silence suffocated the room.
"How'd you know him?" Scott suddenly asked. They did have to question all the staff, after all. "Not well. He seemed a particularly sour gent," the other replied, preparing a cup and tea packet. "So no one really liked him?" Gilbert questioned, half certain of the answer already. "No, not in the High School division at least."
"Why do you say that?" Romano jumped in, standing. Antonio shot a pleading look at him, and the Italian's heart crumbled. Sighing, he sat, much to the Spaniard's joy. "He treated the position of a High School teacher as if it were some holy title, the fool." Nodding, quiet resumed as Arthur's water boiled, and he poured it in the China cup.
Throughout the next half hour until the teachers had to go to their respective classrooms, Scott, Gilbert, and Elizaveta questioned all the ones that trespassed that door, under the guise of 'unfamiliarity' and 'curiosity'. True to the young teacher's word, none of them liked Mr. Simmons. All the math-related teachers were shocked hearing the news of another murder (the body and blood had been removed by the police), and in turn demanded knowledge as well.
During that time, Romano talked with Antonio. It was normal friendly chatter, about the weather, grading, hours, and of course, the coffee. Somehow, they came across a topic concerning food. "Tomatoes are definitely the best to go with for a sauce. Nothing can beat the sweet juiciness of a tomato, after all!" argued the Italian, grinning. The Spaniard chuckled. "You blush just like one, too." Romano shouted that no, he wasn't a tomato, and that he was being an idiot.
Antonio laughed, "Little tomate~" he sang. Grumbling, Romano got up to refill his coffee, glancing at his subordinates as they grilled some blond pansy as, who seemed to enjoy teasing Scott's brother a lot. He just as quickly sat back beside the Spaniard. "Are you okay?" the Italian asked, you. You're just like little Roma."
In that one second, Romano dropped his mug, Elizaveta and Scott whipped their heads to look at him, and Gilbert swore.
I hope you enjoyed. Please review.
9CatLives