Hello my lovelies! We are starting off this chapter with a

WARNING: This chapter contains (non-explicit) rape and mentions of drug use. If you want to avoid the rape scene but still read the rest of the chapter, when Alfred mentions burgers skip to the final section.

Please excuse our Google Translated French; neither of us have studied the language. As always, thanks for reading and we'd love to hear from you!

Chapter Summary: The murders of Gilbert and Heracles have left Francis and Kiku shattered. While Kiku wastes away and Francis resorts to drugs, Alfred and Mattie begin their work as undercover officers. But there are less savory figures lurking in the underbelly of this city, eager to take brutal advantage of the vulnerable.

Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia.

Chapter 3: Grief

It is around two in the morning, and Kiku is not asleep. He is not doing other things in bed either. No, he has been taking time off from that particular practice for the last month, since... His mind can't even go there. Every time he thinks about it, he simply breaks down and cries. It isn't fair. It isn't FAIR. The one good thing he's ever had in his life, and it's lost.

Even now as he sits in the Rainbow's communal kitchen, staring at his stupid sandwich, he can't breathe. He's choking back sobs, gripping the table. Since that night- the night after he lost his sunlight, his joy - he has been like a ghost. Unliving life. A whore, but no longer giving of his flesh. He has become a glorified maid. Eliza gives him a little money to clean and cook, sometimes telling him that it's okay, other times asking him if he thinks he'll ever be alright again. He doesn't. Sometimes he lies and tells her he does, hoping she'll let him stay a little while longer. Sometimes he packs a bag, thinks about where he'll go, and unpacks it again.

Francis half-stumbles into the kitchen, eyes bright and robe hanging most of the way off his body. He doesn't care. Doesn't care that he smells like sex and smoke, doesn't care about much of anything. He's hungry. He's fucking flying, and he's really, really hungry. He bumps hard into the counter on his way and laughs, not feeling it. Holly wasn't kidding when he swore he'd be feeling no pain. He can't remember what this one's called, just something about an opioid - his candy of choice.

"Fuck!" Kiku hisses through his teeth at the sight of Francis. And here Kiku was thinking he must look bad. This man looks like he hasn't bathed in a week. He smells like smoke, sweet and pungent like a fucking gonghead would. And he's laughing. High as a kite in a tornado. "Kami Sama, Francis!"

He whips around at the sound of his name, smiling wide at the sight of his friend. "Mon cheri!" Francis pulls Kiku up from the chair and into a tight embrace. Kiku smells like flowers and rain and sadness. Lovely, except for that last part. Certainly better than most of the customers he's been seeing. He holds onto him, in part because if he lets go he's a little afraid he'll fall off the edge of the world. Then again, that might be fun! He lets go, throwing out his arms. It's very disappointing when nothing happens.

Francis frowns, looking Kiku over. His eyes are red and bloodshot, with dark bags underneath them. He's thinner than usual under that exotic, silky robe. Francis should be worried. Why isn't he worried? "Kiku, you look like shit!" he laughs.

Kiku takes the compliment in stride, seeing it for what it is - a little nicer than the truth. "You're stoned out of your mind, and you smell like someone rolled you in a joint and lit you." He pushes him away a little, only to catch him when he comes stumbling back and slowly lower Francis into the chair he was just sitting in. God, what a mess. Francis is really not taking this well. He should be nicer, but he feels like all the nice has been wrung out of him. "Close your robe, so I don't have to look at your… assets."

Francis's grin turns lecherous. "Maybe you should take your clothes off, so I can see all of yours." Long fingers reach out, catching on the edge of Kiku's robe as they have a hundred times before, brushing over his collar. He doesn't feel sore at all from his last round. He just wants more; something to fill up the void, something to stop the pain that there is not enough opium in the world to take away.

The touch sends hot and cold through Kiku at the same time, and such tremors that he can't breathe through them. Impulsively, he slaps that hand away hard, throwing it off and stepping back. "No." He says, looking down at Francis with something akin to empathy. It's funny. He understands. More than he would like to. If he was anything like Francis, he would be doing the same thing, wouldn't he? Kiku breathes out slowly, suddenly calmer, less angry. He lets himself reach out and touch Francis' cheek, holding his eyes for a long, heavy second. "No. It won't help me. Or you."

Francis falls back when he's smacked away, and stares up at his friend, astonished. Kiku has denied him before, of course, but never like that. His eyes are so cold, even when he is running a thumb over his cheek, catching on the roughness of his thin beard. For a moment he's sinking back to earth. Those eyes force him to recall that Kiku's lover is dead, and so is his. One of his lovers, anyway - one he loved far more than he should have. What a strange thing this is. The world's gone upside down. He cocks his head, and can't help giggling. "You should try standing on your head."

Kiku swallows, letting his hand fall to his side and watching Francis giggle like mad. His lips press together. "The world's not right as it is. I don't need to see it upside down." He turns away, picking up the sandwich he's just created and setting it in front of his dear, high-flying friend. "You need to eat. That shit will kill you if you don't come down, Francis. And you know this place can't survive without you."

Hungry! He'd nearly forgotten until the sandwich was placed in front of him. Leave it to Kiku; the man is magic. In a matter of minutes, the sandwich is gone. Francis wipes his mouth, looking back at Kiku and recalling that he's too skinny. He should feel guilty now for eating his snack. He still doesn't feel much of anything. "Nor you, cheri." He doesn't know if he could survive losing Kiku as well.

Kiku smiles a little, taking the plate away. It's for the best. He wasn't going to eat it anyway. He never feels hunger anymore; he only knows that he should eat. He hands Francis a glass of water and waits for him to swallow it all. "You could carry this place. You know that." 'Everyone knows that,' his mind sighs, and he takes the glass back, filling it again. "When you're not dancing on cloud club drug."

Francis frowns, confused and unable to grasp the metaphor. Kiku doesn't like the club because his brother runs it, but Francis and their coworkers always do well there. "That is how to bring in new clients. But your brother...I suppose that makes sense." He stands, pacing because he can't sit still, he has to do something. Someone. He feels like playing with fire, playing rough. Gilbert liked it rough. He wants him back.

For a moment Kiku watches him, shaking his head. Then his body physically jerks as he sees the man sway and almost fall to the floor, eyes unfocused, barely seeing anything. Oh, fuck. "Frannie—" He calls, moving to catch his arm. "Frannie, are you–?!" He looks like he's about to pass out; he's just so fucking high he's not feeling it right now. "Put some shoes on. We have to see Bernie."

Francis turns his arm so that he has a hold of Kiku instead, and twirls him around. "Yes, yes! Let's put shoes on and go dancing. Or forget the shoes. We don't need them, we can go naked and everyone will be jealous!" They dance, spinning until Francis is not sure if it is them turning or the room.

They're so close, and Kiku feels like he's getting dizzy. No. They... No. They need to stop. He pushes Francis away, throwing him against the counter. When they've finally caught their breath, he pulls that robe closed and ties it shut. "Come with me to see Bernie," he says, tugging the robe up a little. "If he says we can go dancing, I'll go dancing with you."

Francis frowns. Kiku doesn't mean it. Not with those sunken cheeks; his hands are cold wherever they brush his skin. Kiku doesn't want to go anywhere - or rather, he wants to go nowhere. There's a difference, but he could not possibly explain it now. He wants to be worried, but he can't be. He can't...his breath hitches a little, that hole pulsing with its jagged edges. Jagged, bloody edges, like brains spilled across concrete and glass, like bodies lying on the ground, little broken puppets with cut strings. He'd seen everything and nothing. Come too late; heard a commotion, had to see...should never have looked. He would rather see a thousand fresh horrors than remember. He dances away from Kiku. "Non! I don't need to see the good doctor. I feel wonderful! Let's go, Kiku. Let's go work. Let's play."

With a sigh, Kiku takes him by the arm and drags him toward the door. They need to do something. The man probably won't wake up without medical attention. "No, Francis. We are going. I don't care if you feel wonderful, I don't feel wonderful." He doesn't. But there's nothing Bernie can do to help him. He just needs to get Francis there and be done with it.

"STOP IT!" Francis yanks his arm from Kiku's grip, suddenly angry. Or something like angry. "Stop it! You're so sad, it's like there's nothing left to live for. But there's always something! You just have to find it, keep going until you feel alive and it doesn't hurt anymore. Because it doesn't hurt, Kiku! It doesn't; you should try it sometime. Nothing hurts. But if you insist on wasting away for some lover when there are a million others just like him, you stay here and do it!"

The words catch Kiku like someone's choking him, slicing his throat to keep him from speaking. He stares wide-eyed at Francis, knowing he's just angry, knowing this has nothing to do with him and everything to do with Gilbert. But listening to him still hurts badly. He steps back, tells himself to stop caring, and turns away in complete silence. He's not sure if he'll be okay with Francis – with anyone – tomorrow. Maybe he should pack a bag. Maybe he should go somewhere else.

Eliza stalks down the hall, determined to bring an end to this. Her hotel is full of thugs; not the usual ones, either. These are the men with mean eyes and harsh hands, men who enjoy hurting. Ever since Frannie started bringing them back last week, they've been pawing at her and the others, smacking her ass as she passes or drawing her against them with hard, thick fingers, squeezing her breasts until she elbows them in the groin. She's had enough of this. She loves Francis dearly, but long ago they agreed on rules: any john or jane who wants to force something is banned for life.

There's noise from the kitchen, and at first she thinks it's one of those fuckers giving poor Kiku a hard time. But it's Francis stumbling away, laughing at nothing and looking for trouble. That's it. Kiku has his issues, but at least he's not hurting anyone else. She grabs Francis by the shoulders and shoves him against the wall, shaking him. "Enough, Francis! I've had enough! If you want to pull shit like this, do it somewhere else!" She throws him toward the door. "Go fuck Toni. Go fuck your cop. Go fuck yourself for all I care, but don't you dare bring any more of those bastards here. Gupta had to break one john's nose to get him off."

Kiku whips around as Francis is thrown practically out the door by their livid-looking Madam. "Liza-!" He pushes past her, reaching for the poor, wasted bastard and hauling him up. "He needs to see the Doctor! Please, just..."

It's so funny to Francis, seeing them all riled up and tense! They're whores, they've all been through some kind of hell to get here. Yet this is what breaks them down? Him bringing back a couple boys who like to throw punches? They've had rough fucks before, and as long as there's money up front they've hardly cared. These days even a murder is only important if you cared about the ones involved. He flips Liza off. "Fuck yourself, Eliza. You're no fun."

He stands, pushing Kiku away. He doesn't like the cold hands, and he hates the pity in his eyes when Kiku is the one who lost the most. "You too, Kiku. I'm getting out of here." He pushes himself to his feet, grabbing the pants he'd left by the door...last night? Last week? It was convenient now.

XXX

Newly-promoted Officer Matthew Williams looks around the place that is to be their hide-out for this assignment. It used to be a series of apartments by the looks of it. The lobby of the first floor is open, with a common area, rusted laundry facilities, and a main office. From there it closes off into tight hallways and creaky staircases.

Upstairs he and his partner, Alfred, find rooms with dirty, moth-eaten furniture. There are more than moths living here, too: rats the size of his hand, roaches that he swears are even bigger, probably bats in the higher floors. It's not a pleasant place to be. Even the dealers don't like it, apparently. The ones they talked to at the club said it was haunted by the ghost of Old Roma. But they were also tripping out, so it was hard to go by anything they said. Mattie shivers. "This place is kind of creepy."

Alfred grins. Cobwebs? Check. Creaky floors? Check. General aura of doom? Triple-check that bad boy. This is perfect. "Dude, I love it!" He claps his hands together, twirling around so that he misses falling through a disintegrating floorboard by sheer luck. "Nobody wants to come here! It's like the perfect secret hide-out Bat Cave!"

It's just too awesome not to explore. He sticks his head into what was once a bathroom, but is now missing all the copper pipes. "C'mon, Mattie, it's like – like – remember? Like our first duplex! Remember how fucked up your floor was? I mean, we found a litter of kittens living in your wall. And mine didn't even have a kitchen!"

Matthew almost laughs. The lack of a kitchen was a great travesty in Alfred's opinion, but not so much in his. Not that Al was too terrible a cook, it was just that it ended up a wasted space for his friend. Alfred barely ate anything but fast food, so what was the point of a kitchen? They both have apartments at a nicer place now; he can already tell he's going to miss it on the nights he has to spend here. "Kittens are cute and adoptable. Please tell me you do not intend to keep a cockroach as a pet."

"Hah! Bugs need love too." Alfred sticks his tongue out, slipping past him and letting their bodies brush in that easy, familiar way he's worked hard not to notice. "Where's Artie, d'you know? He's supposed to be here by now."

That's a very good question, and Mattie doesn't like the answer his mind supplies. He's seen the signs. Artie's eyes are always bloodshot, his hands shake if he hasn't disappeared in a while, his speech is strange...the man is an addict if he ever saw one, and he's seen plenty. He shrugs all the same. Arthur is their superior, and he always follows the chain of command. "He told us to meet him here, and wait. He probably has some business to attend to."

Alfred smiles, linking arms with Mattie and leading him downstairs. He's right. Artie is their boss, and he's probably doing something important. They just need to sit tight. "Yeah, you're right. C'mon, I brought some burgers. They're in my backpack. They're prob'ly cold by now. Can you live with that, snob?"

The thought is cringe worthy to Matthew. It's unfortunate that he's hungry. At least he brought some maple syrup with him. If he can wipe off the gobs of ketchup Alfred squirts on his burgers, he might just live with it. "Fine."

Alfred crouches on the floor, going through his backpack for the burgers. Suddenly they hear a loud, very angry sounding "NO!" It's followed by the sharp crack of skin-on-skin and an even louder yelp. Immediately Alfred's head jolts up. He drops his bag, straightening. "What the hell?" The sounds are coming from a far-off area of the house, somewhere toward the back.

Mattie's hand is already on his gun. He knew they should have done a better job of clearing this place, but it's like a labyrinth once you pass beyond the lobby. There are all sorts of little hallways with nooks and long rows of doors, some of which don't go anywhere at all. It's like it was built to confuse, built so that bodies wouldn't be found for days and sound would be muffled. That is a disturbing thought. "We should wait for Artie."

Before the word "wait" is even on Mattie's lips, Alfred's taken off in the direction of the noise, his gun drawn, his legs moving faster than any crook could ever be. Why the hell would they wait? Somebody's in trouble! They're the heroes!

"Shit. Alfred!" Mattie glances back at the lobby once more before following.

Alfred throws himself into what clearly used to be the kitchen. To his horror, he finds a massive, bull of a man forcing himself on a blonde, holding him to the counter and—"HEY!" He yells, pointing his gun at the sonovabitch, vowing to blow his head off if he doesn't let go right this second. "HEY! Get your fucking hands OFF him!"

The bastard makes a break for it, which is fine by Alfred at this point. There will be DNA. There will be fingerprints, bruises. Maybe even a name. They'll get him. But first, they need to take care of the lovely, broken thing trying to gather himself against the counter. "Shit. Mattie, call somebody!" He runs forward, trying to help as gingerly as possible. "It's okay, man. I promise, I'm not gonna hurt you, okay? Can you stand? Are you okay to walk?" He reaches out, not touching but ready to steady him if the man starts falling.

Francis blinks stupidly at the counter for a minute, spitting blood he's pretty sure does not belong to him. He can't quite comprehend what's happened. There was pain, a stench as heavy as the pressure on his back, and big hands that were going to wrap around his throat, squeeze until his head came off. But the weight is gone, and now he smells something new. Burgers? He looks up. Blinks again. There's an angel in front of him. A blonde angel with the bluest eyes he's ever seen, and a face so open, so honest, that he isn't afraid at all. "Ange..." [1]

Matthew peers at the victim, trying to decide if it's worth calling Arthur when he strictly told them to maintain radio silence. The victim is in bad shape, and apparently incoherent. He pulls off his coat and holds it out; the clothes on the floor are torn, marked with dirt and a bit of blood. "Here, put this on. We...how can we help? Can we take you to a doctor?"

'Two angels,' thinks Francis. They're nearly identical, too, except that the second one looks even sweeter than the first. A cherub. It takes him a long, slow minute to understand that the jacket is for him. He tries to take it, confused when the fingers of his left hand refuse to hold it. He succeeds with the right and pulls it over his shoulders. It's long, falling nearly to his knees even though he is taller than the angel. "Merci."

There's Mattie, offering his jacket to the guy like a true gentleman. But seeing it over the man's shoulders makes Alfred's heart flip-flop a little. What's wrong with him? The man was just being raped for fuck's sake! He clears his throat, trying not to blush at the word, the accent. French. Fuck. He had to be French to be that pretty, didn't he? He ignores it, reaching out and taking that hand in his, staring down at the bruised flesh. "We have to take you to a hospital. Do you understand, man? Your fingers are broken. Um..." He wracks his brain for any language he can think of. "Um... Los dedos es rompen." [2]

Matthew can't help rolling his eyes, just barely resisting the urge to thump Al on the back of the head. "That's Spanish, Alfred! And it's not his fingers." He looks a little closer; the victim's hands are covered in defensive wounds, but the fingers are moving a little. It's the wrist that's at a strange angle. He never thought he would be glad his papa made him take French for so long in the hopes of taking him to visit his grandmother in Quebec. "Votre poignet est cassé. S'il vous plaît laissez-nous vous emmener à l'hôpital." [3]

The angels speak French? And...Spanish? Of course, they're angels. They can speak any language, can't they? It's beautiful on their lips. The words feel like a kiss, and Francis lingers on them until he catches the word hospital. "NON! No. No hospitals, I'm fine." He pulls back from them, holding onto the counter because he's shaking - or maybe that's just the room. Hard to tell.

Alfred blinks. And blinks again. Well, this just got a little more complicated. He looks to Mattie, then back to the clearly frightened man. "You're high, aren't you?" He asks softly but bluntly, because he has no idea why else he wouldn't want to see a doctor at this point. He looks to Mattie again, then back to the guy. "We still need to get you to a doctor, man. You're pretty roughed up. That guy did a number on you."

There is a very long list of reasons Francis does not like hospitals. Money and insurance issues make up most of them. Having to report this, plus the drugs, would just make it worse. Besides, he really does feel fine. Somewhere the logical part of him is screaming that he is not, and asking for a ride to Bernie's would be wise. But logic is not what is controlling him right now. He shakes his head. "No. I just...I want to go home." The minute he says it he realizes it is the absolute truth. He wants to go to his bed and curl up with Kiku, or Toni, even Artie or...Gilbert.

Mattie sighs. At least the man speaks English; he did not want to have to play translator all evening. It's very clear the man needs a doctor, but he is under no illusions that forcing him will help. God, he hates his job sometimes, hates this place that crushes men and women until they are afraid to even speak. Because they're undercover, he and Alfred can't even help him report it right now. But maybe they can get the information, send it to the chief. "What's your name?"

A strangled sort of giggle bursts from Francis' lips before he can stop it. "You must be new." Everyone on this side of the town knows his name. For a good time, you call Francis. It's a shame the first chance he's had to really introduce himself in a while is when he's looking like this. "Francis."

"Francis," Alfred repeats softly, because the name sounds a little familiar. But he doesn't care. He offers Francis his hand. "We are new. But we're gentlemen. And we're not going anywhere until we know you're where you want to be. Fair?"

Francis' angels are kind and sweet, and suddenly he's quite sure they have been sent his way because someone needs to save them. With those cherub faces and kind, trusting words to complete strangers, this place is going to eat them alive. He takes the hand. "Merci, mes anges. What may I call you?"

Francis...why is that triggering something? Mattie knows it, he just can't place it, and the look on Al's face says he feels the same. Actually, the look on Al's face says a lot more. Mattie is trying very hard not to look too often at Francis, because even beaten, he's beautiful. He blushes and meets his eyes instead. They're deep blue, and over-bright so that they shine like the stars. He knows that's the drugs. It's hard to care. "Matthew. Mattie."

Alfred grins stupidly, feeling quite sure that he's been hit with cupid's sledgehammer. Whoever he is, Francis is definitely something. Something he's never seen before. "Alfred. Most people call me Alfie. Or Alf. You know, which ever. Doesn't matter. It's a name, right?" He's babbling. He really needs to shut up. He doesn't care too much, though. This man is too lovely to care about anything else.

XXX

The car that rolls up to the Rainbow is a modest one, so Kiku is a little surprised to see Francis stumble out in the arms of two gorgeous young men. But that isn't really important. The important thing is getting him to a doctor. Luckily, he called Antonio about an hour ago, and the man showed up with his car and his sternest face. They are going to get Francis to the clinic if it takes knocking him out with a dinner plate. Which it might.

Kiku pushes off the stoop as Toni moves to catch the teetering whore, glaring daggers at the two young men. Toni's glare holds twice the threat. The two men are clearly as besotted as he is - and who wouldn't be? - but they are still customers. Customers that did not take care. He's going to... "Hope you assholes paid him well for the damage. Now get the fuck outta here," Toni growls.

The drugs have started wearing off for Francis. It makes sense. He can see a crack of light out beyond the casino's flashing signs that is not electric, telling him dawn has arrived. But fuck, now he knows why they kept trying to convince him to go to the hospital. Alfred helps him out of the car and he is immediately pulled into a different set of arms. It smells like spice. Francis glances up, trying to smile at his dear Antonio. The man looks furious. That's never good. Toni has a violent temper when it comes to things he cares about, and it's only gotten worse since Gilbert died. He tugs on his sleeve, then reaches up to caress his face. "Non, non. It wasn't them. They're mes anges, they saved me." He smiles back at his angels, trying to memorize their faces. He will find them again.

'Oh Man.' Alfred nearly groans. With the look that dude is giving them, they better get out of there, fast. Well, at least now they know how Francis makes a living. No wonder he's so damned pretty. "Um – He's a little out of it, we think. So. He wanted to go home. Um..." He scratches a hand through his hair, looking to Mattie. "We'd better get going."

Mattie's still got the driver's door open, keys in hand. He wants to make sure Francis will be alright, especially now that he understands who the man is. Francis Bonnefoy, the prostitute who was apparently Gilbert Beilschmidt's favorite lover. He was on the list of those brought in for questioning – among those without much of an alibi, but without much evidence against them, either. Mattie wonders if the people here are his real friends, or just using him, selling him. His fists clench a little. The Spaniard looks like he wants to strangle something. "We wanted to make sure he was safe."

Kiku thanks God for the rare kindness of strangers. He moves to Toni, taking Francis from his frighteningly steely grip. He holds Francis close, patting his back as he notes the look in his eyes. He's coming down. Thank God. "He's safe here. Thank you." He says it with sincere fervor. "We will take him... somewhere."

The smaller man seems truly grateful to Matthew. He looks a little sick himself, though: pale and much too thin. Maybe that is simply the nature of this world. Mattie looks up at the Rainbow, taking in its flashy façade and rich looking balconies, each a different color. They'll be back later, he's sure of that much. They have questions to ask, as subtly as they can. He exchanges a look with Alfred. "Alright. We'll...we'll be around." He catches Francis' eyes. They're even prettier now that the blue is clearing. "S'il vous plaît prendre soin de vous." [4]

Francis smiles to hear the French. Oh, he simply must find his angels again. "Oui. Both of you, too."

Alfred smiles wide, grinning at the man who is giving them a smile that... Well, it's probably fake. But he can't wait to see it again. "C'mon." He takes Mattie's hand, pulling him back to the car.

Toni continues to glare hard at the retreating figures. Alright. Fine. He can probably forgive them for those looks. Anyone his Francis can call "angels" certainly deserves a little forgiveness. But when he finds out who he needed saving from... "Alright, Fran. Let's get you patched up." He heads for his own car, trusting Kiku to bring Francis along.

1 - angel (French)

2 - The fingers is broken. ["…se rompen" is the correct grammar, but Alfred's Spanish isn't very good :D.] (Spanish)

3 - Your wrist is broken. Please let us take you to the hospital. (French)

4 - Please take care of yourself. (French)