I've been inspired to put more of Alfred's and Ivan's characters in here than I originally planned, as I find myself breaking away from the movie even more. This is even more evidenced by the fact that I am introducing a new character who wasn't in the movie at all.

Wish me luck! I hope this works for the better.

Please review!

Chapter 4

At this moment, Alfred could understand why people risked so much to be able to drink alcohol. If it wasn't illegal, he'd probably be dead-drunk right now.

He groaned and dropped his head onto his desk, relishing the cool feeling soaking into his face that was red with a combination of rage and embarrassment.

How had Romano managed to get out of this? The evidence was sound, Charlie had testified against the criminal, it should've been an easy case.

So why wasn't it? Why wasn't it all cut and dried like it was supposed to be? Romano was supposed to be behind bars right now, not absolved and innocent of all the charges brought against him. If the American ever got another chance to go against the Italian, he'd have to start again from scratch.

If he ever got the second chance.

Alfred F. Jones had staked his pride, his joy, everything he had on capturing Romano. He had spent many sleepless nights piecing together shredded letters like a huge puzzle. He had neglected his friends and family, in the hopes that once he got the promotion for capturing Tomato Romano, he'd have the time and the money to be with them again. He might even have had the chance to meet a nice girl and get married someday.

But that was all over now. There was no room for failures, especially not for failures that made the office start over from scratch to catch just one man. He'd be lucky if he wasn't resigned to drudge work for the rest of his life, the same amount of work he had done to attempt to catch Romano, but for less money and no chance to escape it.

His life was over.

He could see that stupid Commie right now, laughing at him, mocking him. Funnily enough, he was almost looking forward to it right now. It would be better than being ignored or whispered about behind his back. For a bunch of grown men, they gossiped a lot like high school girls.

But at least Braginski found more pleasure in straightforwardly taunting him than he did in ignoring him.

But what if that changed now? It had changed with everyone else around the station. Only yesterday, they were treating him like a hero, now they were treating him like a leper.

"Здравствуйте, вы капиталистических свиней"

Alfred lifted up his head to tell the communist off, but then decided it wasn't worth it after all and let it thunk back onto the desk.

"Speak English, Commie," he groaned.

He could see Braginski tilt his head in brief confusion before sitting down across from the American, making the desk shift slightly under his cheek.

"You usually get more upset when I call you that."

"I have more important things to worry about than you calling me a Capitalist Pig."

"Ah," the Communist's face lit up with glee as he clapped his hands, "You are learning my language! That is good!"

"It's hard not to pick up phrases when you use them every day. You need to find some new insults, Ruskie."

Now he was pouting…great.

"Now that's not a very nice thing to say to someone who's only come to tell you some great news."

Alfred lifted his head to look directly at his coworker.

"I see that got your attention." The Russian was satisfied and smug.

The American just rolled his eyes and buried his head in his arms.

"Shall I go on then?"

"Do as you will, you stinking Commie. Why should I care what good news you got? If it has anything to do with me at all, I'll hear it from someone else."

"Aw, but I think you'd rather hear it from me."

"And why would I rather that?"

"Because."

Alfred slammed his hands against the desk and he stood rapidly, "Stop playing games with me, Red!"

"So you want me to tell you?"

"If it'll get you to go away."

"They gave the job of catching Tomato Romano to me."

At that, the fire that had momentarily flared in the American's veins was extinguished, and his body went limp, causing him to fall back into his chair.

"Good for you," his voice sounded dead, even to his own ears, and his eyes slid to half-closed as he did his best not to show Braginski how this was affecting him.

"Why are you not happy?"

"Because," he choked out a bitter chuckle, "So I suppose you're going to start rubbing it in my face? If I were you, I'd recommend waiting until after you catch that slippery bastard."

"They didn't tell you?" something must be wrong with his eyes, since through his lashes, it looked as though the Commie was concerned.

"Tell me what? That I'm fired from the case? Yeah, they mentioned that. Or do you mean fired from the profession entirely?"

"Neither."

"Then what." It wasn't a question, just indifferent acceptance.

"I'll tell you at my place."

"Who says I'm going with you."

"You're curious. You will follow."

"Curiosity killed the cat."

"Ah, yes, that is what you Americans say. But is there not a second part saying And satisfaction brought it back?"

…

"I should never have worn these shoes," Arthur groaned as they did their best to balance on the high heels, "They don't match my purse."

"Oh, man up, Arthur."

"Get into character, Louise."

"How do women valk in these things?"

"How am I supposed to know?"

"Vell, you knew how to put on the clothes, the makeup, the vigs…"

"Blame my mom. She always had wanted a little girl instead of me and my brothers. Being the youngest for a while meant that I was her dress-up doll."

The German was wearing a blonde shoulder-length bobbed wig that was held away from his face with a blue headband. Nothing could completely hide the sheer masculinity of his face, but the makeup did a good job of softening it. He wore a long navy skirt paired with a white blouse and navy necktie and a black jacket. Ludwig was surprised that they had managed to find a pair of heels to fit his sizable feet, but they had accomplished the difficult task.

Arthur did a better job of looking the part, wearing a dirty blonde wig that was browner than his usual hair color. It was extremely long and done up into pigtails with a little hat perched on top of his head. He had donned a light blue dress with a black jacket.

But he was angry because Ludwig had forced him to pluck his eyebrows. He hadn't taken them all off, but had made them considerably less bushy. At least he had been able to force the burly German to shave his legs, but then again, the Brit had needed the same thing done, exposing both of their legs to the cold that tore through the stockings.

But as they were struggling to keep from falling over, a small woman passed by, walking easily on her heels that were even higher than those of the men, her brown ponytail bouncing gently as she walked.

The paused and stared as she walked past, a carefree expression on her face, every now and then brushing a long curl out of her face.

"So that's how you're supposed to valk…" Ludwig spoke finally, still staring.

"Now that's a girl! Wow, where has she been the entire time we've been here…" Arthur responded.

This earned him a good smack on the head, courtesy of his German friend.

"You're a girl now, remember that Arthur. If you blow this, you might as vell paint huge targets on our backs and parade us in front of Romano."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it, I'm a girl. But so are you, so act less macho already!"

This last bit was hissed under his breath as they approached the people they guessed were in charge, both of whom seemed a little daunted by the German's size.

"Hi," Arthur seemed quite feminine to the point that it was almost scary, "We're the new musicians."

"I am Louise," this voice thing was hard.

"And I am Eileen," she smiled at them, her words startling the German who did his best to not react.

"Oh, um," Elizabeta seemed to be struggling to figure out what exactly to say, "I'm glad that you could join us. If you will just get on the train…?"

Ludwig nodded sharply and the two boarded. The moment they got on, the German immediately pulled Arthur to the side.

"Eileen?"

"To tell the truth, I never really liked the name Alice."

…

Stupid Commie was right. Alfred couldn't believe that he had followed the Russian home like a lost puppy.

Unfortunately, Braginski was somewhat right…Alfred was curious, and worse, he was bored. Anyone who knew the American was aware that when he was bored, he got a little stir-crazy.

At first, it hadn't seemed so bad. Yeah, he was going someplace with the Red, but he could pretend to himself that he was working again, out to investigate a case.

That dream-fantasy fell through when he saw that bastard's house. It was THE house. The very house that Alfred stopped by every now and then to remind himself of his goals to one day purchase the house and raise a family in it.

He wasn't even close to affording it, but the Russian just waltzed in, careless of how much it cost, his boots treading dirt on the floor, staining its clean white appearance. He hated the Communist so much right then, but he did is best to conceal it, at least until after he had heard the reason he was brought here. If he must be dragged here to have it completely rubbed into his face, then he wanted to have it over and done with.

"Sit, Просьба."

It wasn't a word that Alfred often heard from the taller Russian, but the inflection and the other man's gesture towards one of the chairs at the kitchen table, Alfred was able to gather that the word used was something akin to "please".

This only made him more uneasy as he perched on the edge of the chair, ready to jump up the moment he needed to.

"Relax, Jones, I'm just trying to be hospitable."

Alfred was tempted to growl at that moment.

Braginski then sat down across from him with a large bottle, and swiftly removed the cork.

"What's that?" the American eyed the bottle uneasily.

"Vodka."

Alfred nearly fell out of his chair at that.

"What? You can't!"

"This is my house, is it not?"

"It's illegal!"

"What the force don't know won't hurt them."

"I'm on the force, and so are you!"

The Russian chuckled, "Oh, Jones, surely you did not believe that no one on the force drunk? Tell me you are joking."

Alfred most certainly was NOT joking. The Russian surely must be joking. No officer would partake of something illegal like this!

Braginski must've read his thoughts on his face, for he spoke, "You are not joking then?"

"Why would I?"

"Have you ever had alcohol?"

Alfred bit his lip, refusing to respond.

"No? We must fix that then," grabbing a glass, he poured some of the liquid into it before pushing it across the table to the other officer.

The American caught it before it could slide off the table out of reflex, and then looked down at the liquid deemed evil by Prohibition.

Decidedly, he pushed it away, "No."

The Russian grinned, "Drink."

"No."

"Drink, or I tell you nothing."

"I'll tell the cops about this."

"No one likes a snitch. That would be against your hero complex, wouldn't it?"

Alfred did growl at this, and the Russian just looked pleased. He had found a chink in the American's armor.

Jones looked back at the innocent-looking glass, and pondered.

His life was over anyways. And if Braginski was trying to take him down, he'd bring the Russian down with him.

"Are you scared?"

That was enough. The American grabbed the shot and upended it into his mouth, only to promptly sputter and cough at the burning sensation tearing at his throat.

Across the table, he could hear the Russian laughing at him. He looked up, eyes watering, to see the Russian wiping tears of mirth from his own eyes.

"I must thank you for that, Comrade. I have not laughed much lately."

"Whatever," he felt strangely apathetic now that the burning was gone, "Just tell me what you wanted to tell me so that I can leave."

"Da," the Russian nodded before taking a large gulp from his own cup, drinking it like it was water, "But you might not want to leave once you hear my news."

"I already want to go, so get it over with."

...

Ludwig was astonished to see how quickly the girls had accepted him and Arthur. He was surprised how…coarse some of them were. They didn't even seem to find the huge German to be suspicious.

But then again, what reason would they have to be suspicious? They know that Elizabeta wouldn't allow men anywhere near them, with the exception of the harmless Roderich.

A statuesque Spaniard named Antonia kept throwing out dirty jokes, much to the apparent embarrassment of the cute little blond sitting next to her. He had to feel sorry for the girl he learned was called Madeleine, especially since she was squeezed between Antonia and a girl who looked oddly familiar who introduced herself as Gillian. Strangely enough, she seemed to recognize him, if the widening of her crimson eyes were any indication.

Arthur was quite visibly staring at those very girls, along with all the rest. Any attempt on the German's part to change his focus failed in epic proportions.

So, the German did what he normally did, grabbed the shorter man by his shirt to get him to listen.

"Remember, Eileen, you're a girl! No messing around!"

Arthur glared at him, "Thanks, wanker, you just tore one of my knockers off!"

The smaller man crossed his arms across his chest in an attempt to keep it from being overly obvious that something was wrong there. He walked a little ways before turning to look at the German, "Are you coming?"

The German sighed as he went to help the Brit find a restroom to fix his…chest. They finally found it, opened the door, and saw the girl from earlier, drinking out of a tiny silver flask.

As soon as she noticed that she wasn't alone, she was trying to hide it behind her back. When she realized that it wasn't either Elizabeta or Roderich, she relaxed visibly.

"Oh, you're not going to tell on me, are you?" she asked as she took another gulp. The men hurriedly shook their heads as they shut the door behind them.

"All the girls do it," she continued speaking as she drank, "But I'm the only one that gets caught," she took another drink, "It's not like I have a problem with it. I could stop any time I wanted to. Only thing is, I don't want to. Oh, my name is Feliciana Vargas, by the way."

"Italian?" Arthur asked. He felt a little apprehensive, remembering the last Italian they had run into, but this girl didn't look as though she could even manage to kill a fly. In fact, she seemed the type of person that, while trying to kill the fly, would manage to whack herself in the head.

"Si, ve~!" she looked happy that he managed to get it right.

"I'm Eileen, the new guitarist."

Ludwig didn't like the tone Arthur was getting, but if this girl was as oblivious as she appeared, they might get out of here without much trouble, "Louise. Trumpet."

She smiled brightly at them, "Ve~, I'm the singer. I also play piano, but I cannot get much practice since you can't carry a piano with you! I come from a musical family, you know. My mother was a piano teacher, and my father was a conductor."

"Where did he conduct?" Ludwig asked.

"On the Baltimore and Ohio," she continued smiling happily as she leaned forward, her brown ponytail bouncing lightly as she held out the flask, "Would you like some pasta?"

…

"What?" the American slouched in his seat, unable to believe it.

"I want you to work with me on this case," Braginski repeated.

Alfred looked down at his now-empty glass, "This stuff must be stronger than I thought."

"If you got drunk off that little, then you deserve to be joked with."

"Ok, assuming that you're telling the truth…"

"I am."

"…why do you want me? I lost the guy, remember?"

"That is true."

The words stabbed at the American, but he did his best not to let it show.

"But," the Russian wasn't finished, "You got the closest that anyone's ever gotten to him. No one's brought him to trial before."

Alfred laughed scornfully, "And look how much good that did."

"The only reason you failed was that you got a corrupt judge."

Blue eyes widened.

"What?"

"You're awfully naïve, aren't you?" Braginski smiled, "It's quite amazing how innocent one can be in the ways of the world."

"Shut up! You're lying!"

But the older man didn't stop, "Romano's men bribed the judge to find him innocent of all accusations. Your case was completely sound."

Blue eyes widened.

The Russian held out a hand to the American, "I promise you, Comrade, we'll get him this time."

"And how can you promise that?"

The smile that now crossed his face bordered on creepy, "Let us just say that I have the connections to get us a fair trial."

Braginski rose to his feet, reaching out a hand across the table towards Alfred, "So, what do you say Jones?"

To his own amazement, Alfred found himself standing as well, reaching out his hand towards the one man he had thought of as his enemy.

"Why not? It's not like I've got anything left to lose."

The Russian laughed gleefully as they shook hands, "Wonderful. Now we must get started."

"We have to wait for him to make a move first though," the American pouted, good mood starting to vanish.

"He already has."

"Huh?"

"He and his men shot up a garage."

"We need witnesses, Commie, they don't take anything on hearsay. And these men…I can tell you they left no witnesses."

"Not intentionally."

Blue eyes showed confusion as a blond head tilted to the side in bewilderment.

"Two men escaped and are hiding from Romano. If we find them before he does…"

"…then we got him!" Alfred grabbed for the bottle and poured himself another drink before gulping it down.

"I'm glad that you're taking to Russian water so well."

Alfred gave a reckless grin as he downed a second glass, heedless of the burning that ran down his still-raw throat, "I feel like a new man, Russkie."

"Ivan."

"What?"

"My name is Ivan. If we are to be working together like this, we should be friends, da?"

Alfred laughed, "Da! Just call me Alfred, Commie, and let's go get that Italian bastard!"

…

After Ludwig and Arthur finally managed to reattach Arthur's chest, they turned to leave, only to be stopped by a girl with long white-blonde hair who blocked the exit.

"West, what the hell are you doing here?"

Arthur turned to look at Ludwig who seemed stunned.

"Gilbert?"