"Guten Morgen, Sonnenschein."

I blink back the sleep, and see Gilbert peering down at me, a comical grin on his face. It's far too early for this conversation. My eyes close, "Nicht wirklich. Du bist hier."

Gilbert snorts, "You're always mean in the morning. Are you going to tell me why the Hell you're on the floor? You and Alfred finally discover beer?"

I squint at him, "You're still dirty from the factory."

"Yeah, way to avoid the question," Gilbert says, and gestures meekly at Natalya on the couch, "I can't shower with a lady in the house. Did you chase it with vodka or something? I told you to stay away from that shit."

"We weren't drinking, Gilbert," I murmur, "You know Alfred, he hates the idea of it. The hell time is it anyway? Five?"

"Fifteen till eight, actually," Gilbert says, "What happened?"

Yet another fantastic conversation on why we shouldn't have gotten ourselves into this mess awaits me if I answer, but I know Gilbert isn't going to believe any lie I come up with. Not to mention I don't exactly want to lie to Gilbert. "She came to the diner last night. Injured. Alfred didn't want to have her out here alone."

Gilbert whistles low, "Someone mug her?"

I'm nearly sure he knows my answer mentally is something along the lines of "No, you idiot," or "If you're trying to give me opportunities to lie for the sake of yourself they aren't going to work."

"She didn't say," Which is the honest answer, "But she hinted that she knew whomever did it."

He side-eyes the couch, "They don't know she's here, do they?"

Chances are they do, but I doubt they would be so bold as to march into the diner and demand her back. I'm almost sure she's not exactly welcomed back at the moment either. So I answer, "No. I don't think so."

Gilbert stares at me for a moment, reading my face. I turn to look at the couch for myself. Natalya's still in the same position she was last night, leaning back onto the arm and curling in towards herself. Alfred's sprawled next to her on the floor, one arm reaching towards the couch, and the other near my leg. I have absolutely no idea how that could possibly be comfortable. His glasses are askew as well. No wonder Gilbert thought he had gotten into alcohol. Idiot.

"So?"

"Hm?"

"What are you going to do once she wakes up?" Gilbert says, "Are you always this fucking slow in the morning?"

I can see him worriedly glance again at the couch to make sure he didn't wake Natalya himself by swearing. I cannot believe I'm related to the equivalent of a priest. "I'm not sure. That's up to her, honestly. We can't force her to stay here."

Gilbert furrows, "You're not going to let her go back to that-?"

"We can't kidnap her, Gilbert," I groan, "And I know that. I know she's better off here than there. But there's no way of forcing her. She has to make that decision."

"We can't let 'er go back, though, Lud-"

I jump slightly. Goddamn these Jones' and their penchant for startling me when I'm half asleep.

Alfred's awake now. Sort of. He's getting there, from what I can tell, squinting at me as if he hasn't realized his glasses are above his eyebrows and knocking his forehead. "See, he agrees with me," Gilbert says, gesturing.

How dare he use my sympathies for Alfred against me. "I agree with you both, but it still stands that we can't force her-"

Alfred sits up, rubbing at his eyes, "We can reason with her, can't we? You're good at that, Lud. Reasoning."

Flattery. "Whether I am or not," I say, "I'm telling you it's up to her-"

"Shut up."

Alfred and Gilbert visibly tighten. Natayla hasn't moved from her position, nor opened her eyes, but she's awake. With all the talking, I wouldn't be surprised if she had been awake for quite some time now. Morons. Talking about holding her against her will right in front of her.

Her lips thin, "I will be staying."

Alfred hoots, and punches the air, and I can see the smallest smile on Natalya's face, before her eyes shoot open and she asks, "As long as that's alright?"

"Of course it is!" Alfred says, and Natalya flinches slightly when his hands grasp her own.

Gilbert looks a little wary, but shrugs, "The more the merrier. Just-keep your girl things concealed, alright?"

"Gilbert's weak at heart," I quip, "He'd faint the moment he saw an ankle."

"Verpiss dich."

"Ich liebe dich auch-"

"Do they always do this?" Natalya asks.

Alfred laughs, "Only when they're in a good mood."

I resent that.

"You're going to need to change, aren't you?" I ask, eying the dirt on Natalya's dress.

She's touching the cut on her cheek gingerly, running a finger over it. I haven't seen her look any more than melancholic about this situation, now that I think about it, and if anything she looks...jaded. "I didn't bring anything with me," she says quietly, "It is fine."

"Amelia wouldn't mind lending you something," Alfred says, "You'd feel better once you wash up, wouldn't you?"

He's laying that older brother voice on thick this morning. However, he has a point. Amelia wouldn't mind. In fact, I'm sure she'd be terrifyingly gleeful at the chance to dress Natalya up in her clothes. I'm having a hard time imagining Natalya in a button-down dress with Amelia's usual red bow regardless, even if Natalya should be dressing like that at her age. Even Mrs. Jones dresses a bit more vibrantly than Natalya does.

Natalya doesn't seem all too thrilled at the idea either. "Pinning up my hair will do fine."

"You've got blood caked near your forehead," Alfred says.

"That's nothing new," Natalya retorts, "I will be pinning it up."

Alfred's eyes narrow, "You need to wash up."

Gilbert's looking from Alfred to me as if he's expecting me to have some sort of knowledge on how to deal with the situation. I have absolutely no idea why he assumes I would have more experience with women than he would. Honestly. He's supposed to be the older brother figure here. I offer him a shrug. Gilbert sighs, "If she doesn't want to wash up-"

"She needs to wash up," Alfred says, eyes never leaving Natalya, "She shouldn't be sitting around covered in dirt and dried blood when we have a perfectly good shower room!"

He holds up his hands, "I've said all I can." and sinks down into the armchair. Weak.

"Do not talk to me like I am some young girl you can boss around," Natalya snaps, "I will wash when I am ready."

"Why not now?"

"Why are you so insistent?"

"Because!" Alfred huffs, "I want you to care about yourself! Don't you think you deserve it?"

There is a part of me that is always appalled and amazed when Alfred says things that are both not something you should bring up to someone's face amongst a group of people but are still positively true. It's as if his inability to read the atmosphere of the situation is both a blessing and a curse. I'm not yet sure what Natalya thinks of it, but by the look of her startled expression, she's not sure either.

The back of the couch is suddenly the focus of her attention as well. "Alfred," I caution, "She's free to clean up when she's ready. We still need Amelia to wake up before she decides to shower anyway." Hopefully he's picked up on the underlying message to go easier on her in my voice, but I can't be too sure.

Alfred eyes flicker away from her, "Yeah. I'll-go wake 'Meila."

He stands up, hesitates a moment, and walks out of the room, closing the door softly behind him. Natalya's chin rests on her arms, folded atop her knees. She's fiddling with a strand of hair between her fingers. "I'm sorry about that," I say, "He-has good intentions."

She doesn't respond, but her shoulders stiffen. Quietly, she murmurs, "Did you know your hair keeps growing after you die?"

I've never met someone this unintentionally intimidating since the last time I looked in a mirror.

"I-No, I didn't know that."

She's yanking at that strand now, slightly, not enough to hurt, "I should cut mine off to give it room to grow."

I'm trying to ignore the fact Gilbert just crossed himself out of the corner of my eye. "D-Do you plan on dying in the near future?" I ask, not particularly wanting the answer.

There's no answer to that, but she looks me dead in the eye, blonde hairs still tangled in between her fingers, and says, "It was Ivan."

Over Gilbert's sudden bout of choking on air, I fumble out, "He did this to you?"

"He had it done," Natalya says, and pauses before adding, "In front of my older sister."

I can feel Gilbert's eyes on me, and it registers that the very same thing Natalya went through could have very well already happened to myself, Alfred, or Amelia. Oddly enough, Gilbert doesn't seem capable of rubbing an "I-Told-You-So," in my face. Whether that's out of fear of Natalya or understanding the situation, I'm not sure. Either way, it's better he can't. I'm not exactly fond of being told I've put someone in danger by helping someone else out of it.

Not only that, but if Ivan's sunk as low as to strike back against Natalya, who's to say he'll contain himself from sending someone Feliciano's way?

"He found out about what I was doing," Natalya says, "Interfering without his permission. He thought I was coming here to stop you from helping that man. Vargas. When he found out that wasn't the case, he was angry."

"He's your brother, isn't he?" Gilbert says, looking particularly disgusted, "Who the hell does that to their own sister?"

"We have different mothers," Natalya says, "It's always been a fragile relationship. I have done nothing but tend to my brother all my life. Look up to him like a dog would to its master. He was always very young at heart. I-I did not expect his childlike cruelty to be directed towards me in this way."

"Beating the hell out of you is childlike?" Gilbert spits.

Natalya's eyes are slits, "He does not realize the effect of his actions. He is a child. My brother sees nothing wrong in tossing those he does not need aside. To him, I am a broken toy. But I do not blame him. That is how he was raised."

"Psychologically raised to be an abuser or not," I say, "It's not an excuse. It's a reason. And something that should be fixed."

"He can't go around treating his own damn family like puppets," Gilbert says with a scowl, "Expecting them not to feel when they're treated like dog shit. Who the fuck does his guy think he is?"

Gilbert is absolutely not watching his mouth anymore. I'd find it funny, but this conversation isn't particularly humorous. "You don't understand," Natalya says, "He is kind. Loving. He is just-a child."

"He's manipulative," I say, "You're not his tool, Natalya. You're his sister."

"There is nothing wrong," she says, her voice wavering, "With being both."

She burrows into her arms again. Gilbert falls silent as well, but the scowl never leaves his face. The next few moments are silent until Alfred returns with Amelia in tow, looking as if she's been told there's a new dog waiting for her in the flat. As expected, I suppose, and not a bad metaphor either.

"Natalya!" Amelia calls, dashing past me to throw herself onto the couch beside Natalya, "You're back! It's been awhile!"

Alfred has a stack of what has to be every article of clothes Amelia has ever owned in his arms, looking absolutely exhausted by what I'm sure was Amelia's doing. He slumps beside me on the floor, and mutters, "Never again."

Natalya's still keeping herself far from any physical contact, as Amelia leans in to inspect her wounds. "You got pretty banged up, didn't you?" Amelia asks, "That's okay. We can borrow some of Ma's make up! I know how to use it, you know. She taught me."

I can't help but feel sorry for Natalya's round of not one but two Jones' siblings in a day, as Amelia takes it upon herself to start prodding at Natalya's cuts and scrapes. Somehow, she looks a little more comfortable with Amelia than she did Alfred. Maybe it reminds her of her sister.

"Stop looking at her like a doll, 'Melia," Alfred says, sounding put-off, "Pick a dress or something."

"I can't pick a dress for her, dummy," Amelia says, rolling her eyes, "Men. How about you hold them up and Natalya will tell us which one of 'em she likes best? Chop-chop!"

I can see from the look on Alfred's face that he has absolutely no intention of doing that. "Actually," I say, "I think Alfred should come with me."

"Where the hell are you're going?" Gilbert asks.

"The Braginsky's," I reply, "So long as Natalya gives us the address."

"What?" Alfred and Gilbert demand in unison.

Natalya's head snaps up as well. She looks at me worriedly, reading my face. "We're just going to talk," I explain, "I think it's important for the investigation to finally have a word with him. And maybe, if we do this correctly, we can stop him from hurting Natalya any more than he already has. The sooner we figure out who our killer was, the sooner we get ourselves out of this situation."

"Look at her!" Gilbert shouts, pointing at Natalya's face, "Look what he did to her! His own sister! What the fuck do you think they're doing to do to you, huh? Give you a complimentary mint and tell you thanks for visiting? Do you have any goddamn idea what you're saying?"

"We can't just sit here and wait for him to make a move," I say, "He doesn't know where Natalya is right now. He doesn't have a clue we're keeping her safe. He will know, however, if we give him an opportunity to send out people to find her. The sooner the better."

Alfred's chewing at his lip. "Maybe he's right, Gilbert," he says, "Maybe he's wore out from what he did to Natalya and won't bother with us. So long as we don't piss him off, shouldn't we be alright?"

"He's not going to like you finding him," Natalya says, "He's going to be defensive from the moment you are there until the moment you leave. But...I do not think he will hurt you. Unless you hurt him first."

I don't like the way that implies Natalya's hurt Ivan somehow with what she's done, but pressing it won't do any good. "We'll just ask him about what he knows. Tell him we're trying to find the person who killed Mr. Laurinaitis, and offer information about the Vargas'. I doubt he'll believe it, but it makes him think we're on the same side."

"And if he doesn't want to hear any of it?" Gilbert says.

I shake my head, "Then he doesn't. But I doubt he'll be able to resist, with the way Natalya describes him. Alfred and I are strong, Gilbert. We'll be able to make it out just fine. I promise."

Gilbert looks at me, swallows, and says, "Just-don't be a hero, alright kid? You either," he jabs a finger at Alfred, who rubs his neck sheepishly.

"We'll run like hell, Gilbert, we promise," Alfred says. I nod.

Amelia sniffles from the couch, and quickly scrambles to cover it up, "I-I'll stay here with Natalya. Someone has to keep her safe too! And we'll make sure she feels just as good as she looks, won't we?"

Natalya blinks at Amelia, before giving her a curt nod, and staring morosely at Alfred and I. "The human heart can squirt blood several meters when punctured," she says softly, "I hope you never have to see it in person."

I think that's her personal way of telling us to be safe, but God if it couldn't be less graphic and absolutely terrifying. Alfred looks a bit green. "That's so neat!" Amelia says cheerfully, "You're very smart, aren't you?"

Women are also absolutely terrifying thank God Ivan was not an Ivana.

"I'll stay here with-" Gilbert pauses to shoot the girls a look, "With these two. Unless you want me to join you-"

"The more people the more suspicious," I say, "Not that I wouldn't want you to come." Nor save him from these two.

"Right, yeah," Gilbert says, a nervous tone to his voice, "Suspicious."

I stand, "We should get it over with. It's nearly ten now, isn't it?"

Alfred checks his watch, "Nine fifty."

"The address is the same as the one on the card I gave Alfred that night," Natalya says, "Do you still have it?"

He pulls out his wallet, and slips the card from one of the pockets, waving it, "Wouldn't lose it."

"Don't lose your fingers either," Gilbert chides, "I need a cigarette-"

"That'll kill you, you know," Alfred says, an odd grin on his face/

Gilbert cuffs his arm, "Shut up, kid. You keep him safe, you hear me?"

"I'll project your daughter with my life, sir," Alfred says, giving a lazy salute.

"You both need to shut up," I say, "We'll be fine."

Gilbert claps a hand on my back, and I manage a small smile, before I follow Alfred out the door, waving goodbye.

"Shouldn't be far from here," Alfred says, glancing down at the card.

We've been walking for nearly an hour, already passing the Vargas' restaurant. For a moment, I wondered if it would be worth it to stop in and tell Feliciano what we were doing before Alfred tugged me along. I'm not sure what I would have said, honestly. It would only worry him more.

"Another block or so?"

"Yeah," Alfred adjusts his glasses, and glances up at a nearby building, "I think so. You okay?"

"Fine," I reply shortly. I know he has a reason for asking, but I'm not intent on indulging him.

"You sure?"

"Positive."

He kicks a rock across the pavement, "Well. If you want my honest opinion," I don't, "I think you're lying."

I can feel the extended metaphor coming.

"D'you know, up in the air force back during the war, the pilots had to rely on constant communication and strategies to make sure their attacks were actually useful. One wrong move, and you could knock your own friend out of the sky on accident," Alfred glances back at me, "The Luftwaffe, you know, the Germans, had horrible problems with bombing strategies up there, and would've damn well been more useful had they actually communicated. Lucky for us, right?"

"Are you seriously comparing me to the Luftwaffe?"

Alfred laughs, "I'm just saying, Lud. And I know I say this a lot but...we're partners. You can say what's on your mind."

"Duly noted," I say. It's always back to this with us. I can't help but feel that's my fault, or, at the very least, mine and his inability to read the situation. He's always forcing things out of me, for better or worse.

"What if this Ivan guy's literally some big ol' toddler?" Alfred says, squinting at building signs, "Do you think he'll throw his blocks at us? With a little binky in his mouth?"

"Mentally, I'm sure that might just be the equivalent of what he wants to do," I say, "I'm assuming he's going to throw words instead, for the time being. Groups like that tend to deal with a more psychological approach before getting physical."

"So they play with their food before they eat it, is what you're saying. Like a cat," Alfred grimaces, "I've always been more of a dog person."

"Likewise."

Alfred full-stops, "I think we're here."

There's a tall building that, if it hadn't been for the straggle of people hanging around the outside, would have looked completely abandoned. Minor electricity, from what I could see, considering the sunlight had no trouble finding gaps in broken windows and holes. Somehow, I imagined the place to be a bit cleaner. I suppose that'd only attract more attention, but if you're going to be a foothold of organized crime, wouldn't you want to appear...organized?

"You're sure?"

I don't necessarily want to walk into this place just to find out we were incorrect. The people outside were beginning to take notice of our presence, and looked less than excited about our arrival.

"Says to take the alley way entrance," Alfred says, glancing at the card, "Right down there."

A disorganized crime house and a pathway that leads through a damp alleyway. The Braginsky's had no respect for the possible aesthetic chances they had in front of them. At least dust once and a while.

And yet. Neither of us moves.

"What are you doing?" Alfred chides, "This was your idea! You go first!"

"What?" I hiss, "You're the one who found this place! Aren't you always talking about being a hero-"

"Don't turn it around on me!" Alfred whispers frantically, "You're the one with all the muscles! They're already looking at me like I'm some chew-toy for their dogs!"

"And I told you he's just going to want to talk to us-When has my reasoning ever been wrong?"

"Then what's the problem with you going first, Mr. Reason?!"

A very good counterpoint. Damn him. "Fine," I mutter, "But if they turn out to attack from behind-"

"I'm sure you'll be disappointed about missing out on that," Alfred says, pushing me along in front of him, "But I promise I won't enjoy it."

Something tells me that was a euphemism for something else.

With Alfred's hands firmly pushing me forward along with my steps, we make it to the backdoor of the building. The only thing back there is a small, iron door, with a slide window for glancing out at any newcomers. Annoyingly, I can feel my heart rate increasing, and nearly kick Alfred in the leg when he whispers, "Knock, Lud!"

My hand falters. There's a twenty percent chance of whomever is waiting at this door to find no patience in dealing with the two of us and shoot us point blank. Probably not the best statistic to pull from my mind at this point, but it's my first thought. It would probably do better to be less pessimistic about things when faced with the probability of death.

I knock, twice.

The window slides open. A pair of glasses and eyes, much like Alfred's own, stare back. "Do you have an appointment with Mr. Braginsky?"

I'm not sure if his eyes sparkled just now, or if I'm hallucinating. "Er, no," I say, feeling Alfred stand up behind me to look over my shoulders, "But we're here to talk to him about-"

"One moment."

The window slides shut. I wonder if this means he's going to let us inside, until several clicks sound from behind the door. Alfred shrinks back behind me, "I'll protect us, Lud!"

"You're doing a fantastic job of it cowering behind me," I snap, "Wait, would you?"

Hesitantly, I lean towards the door. The clicking noise has carried on far too long for them to be loading a gun at this point. And then-

"Wait a second, are you typing something?!"

Alfred shoots back up, "I knew it!"

That explains the shaking.

The window slides open again, and the same, oddly sparkling glasses pop back up, "I needed to finish typing our daily morning reports," it says, matter of factly.

"We're asking to speak to your boss! You're part of a mafia, aren't you? The least you could do is put on some sort of act!"

The eyes appear thoughtful for a moment, "Did you want me to threaten you? I'm busy, you know."

Apparently it's hard to find good employees on all spectrums of employment. I can't believe I'm spending time getting exasperated with a mafia grunt not doing his job properly. "Man," Alfred whines behind me, "This is gonna be such a lame story to tell 'Melia later."

What, because we weren't shot point-blank?

"We'd like to speak with Ivan Braginsky," I say through gritted teeth, "Can you do that for us, or are you too busy to do your job properly?

"You're going to keep interrupting me if I don't," the glasses say, "Go on ahead. I don't know why you'd be so eager to talk to him."

How has this man not gotten shot yet.

The door creaks open, and Alfred and I walk inside, cautiously. It closes behind us, and those same glasses glimmer at us from the sudden change in light. "When you see him, tell him I'm finished," the voice says, it's back facing us, "I don't want to be in the same room with him if I don't have to be."

Not only can this idiot not do his job, but he's sending us in just so we can do it for him. "Right," I say, "Wouldn't want to inconvenience you."

"Absolutely!" the voice says, "He's just to your right, by the way. Through that hallway. Have a nice time!"

Alfred murmurs, "This is a nuthouse," and I can't help but agree with him.

The hallway is dark and narrow, lined with portraits I can't entirely make out. In fact, I'm nearly sure the only reason that idiot was manning the door was simply to be closer to a light source rather than to actually carry out his duties. Something tells me we were far from the sunlit area seen from outside, but the light at the end of the hallway suggested we might get their yet.

The moment we step into the room, sunlight floods our eyes. Alfred leans a hand on my shoulder for support, squinting pasts his glasses as I blink, stunned from the change. As our eyes focus, I notice we're in some sort of greenhouse. Rows of sunflowers and other green plants are surrounding the room, and overgrown vines have taken to scaling the walls. If not for the reason we were here, and the disorganization of it all, it might be enjoyable. However…

"Oh!"

Yet another disembodied voice calls from the room, coming from nearby rows of sunflowers. "Eduard didn't tell me we had visitors today!"

"We're looking for Ivan Braginsky," Alfred says back, "That guy at the front told us we'd find him here, but he must've led us in the wrong direction. You know where we'd find him?"

Alfred's brashness is both astounding and terrifying. I don't think he realizes that we're in the right place. I nudge him, but the man steps out from behind the sunflowers before I can so much as whisper.

In front of us, the six-foot Ivan Braginsky stands, watering can in tote, and some sort of flower printed apron wrapped around his waist. He smiles, eyes crinkling at Alfred, "Ah, da. That would be me!"

Alfred laughs, "You're kidding! Man, this Braginsky guy has some weird people working for him, right, Lud?"

"He's not kidding, Alfred," I whisper.

Alfred stiffens. Ivan hasn't stopped smiling. Quietly, Alfred murmurs, "Oh."

I clear my throat, "We're here to speak with you about the murder of Toris Laurinaitis. My name is Ludwig Beilschmidt. And this is my partner, Alfred F. Jones. Your sister, Natalya Arlovskaya, enlisted our help, and we're here to share information with you."

"I know who you are," Ivan says, waving a hand, "Little one with glasses and rude mouth and bigger one with funny hair and too many muscles. Natalya's new friends. Why are you visiting so early?"

What a charmer. "Like I said," I say calmly, "We're here to share information."

His lips pucker, "Natalya isn't here though! Isn't she the one you do the talking to?"

I can see Alfred's expression darken out of the corner of my eyes. Before he can retort, I answer, "She's done all she can, to our knowledge. We've already visited your prime suspect, and have yet to discover any leads."

Ivan's lips pout, and he seems preoccupied with the petals of one of his sunflowers, "Are you saying I was wrong? I send my men to bother the Vargas' for no reason? That's a shame."

From the look on his face, he's only disappointed that we interrupted that so long ago. "Do you have any other ideas as to who might have done it?"

He taps his chin, little specks of dirt from his gardening gloves flicking off onto his apron, "You are sure it wasn't Vargas?"

My mind flashes to Feliciano's face. "Absolutely sure."

Ivan slides a spade from the table, and points it at me, slowly, "Enough to bet life?"

He laughs the moment my eyes widen, and I can see Alfred shifted towards me, "Small joke!" he says, "Joke between friends. Probably not Vargas then."

"So," Alfred says, "Who else?"

Looking as if he's actually giving this question thought, Ivan sinks into a nearby chair. I stare straight ahead at him, and he looks up, flashing another smile. "Why not ask partner? He looks like he knows."

Alfred turns to me, eyebrows furrowed. Personally, it's just a guess, and in my opinion, too easy of one, but it's what Ivan wants me to say. "You."

Ivan grins, "Ahh, that's what I thought you'd say. But, it's not me," he raises a gloved hand, "I don't like to get my hands dirty. Even when working with my friends."

He's gesturing to the sunflowers. Alfred looks as though he's touched wet food during dishwashing duty. "Having something to do with it," Alfred says, his fists clenching, "Would still make your hands dirty."

"Who said I did anything?" Ivan says, cocking an eyebrow, "Assumptions are very bad."

"You had no problem laying a hand on your sister," Alfred spits out venomously.

Technically, we weren't supposed to know that, and I can see Ivan's realization of just how involved we actually are dawn on his face. His smile falters for a moment, but the minute he notices I'm watching, it reappears. "She's been a bad playmate," he says simply, twirling the spade in his hands, "It was just fight. Normal for siblings."

"Like hell it is!" Alfred growls, "You don't know the first thing about family! She could barely stand when she came to us! She doesn't even think you've done anything wrong-"

The spade in Ivan's hand hits the wooden table with a thud. "I haven't."

Alfred swallows. "You could have killed her."

"And she is alive," Ivan says plainly, clearly losing the need to keep up his cheerful persona, "She betrayed our family. We have done worse to smaller offenses."

"All Natalya did was try to keep an innocent person from dying," Alfred says lowly, "And you lost your chance. You're nothing but a sore loser. Don't blame this on her."

Ivan's laugh tinkles, "You think Natalya keeps innocent people from dying?"

I'm not sure I want to know where this is going, nor that I appreciate his tone. He grins once more, "My sister has done very naughty things, comrades. And the fact that she is the one leading you through this mystery is one of them."

"What do you mean by that?" I ask, eyes narrowed.

"I am sure when she came to ask you for help, she played sad," Ivan says, "Did she not? Did you think she was mourning a friend's death?"

My mind flashes back to the night Natalya arrived in our apartment, and the heart on the back of Laurinaitis' photo. I had originally thought it was simply a one-sided affection that Natalya had constantly denied, and the remorse on her face that night was nothing but lost chances...but now…

Ivan laughs again, standing up from his chair, "Your friend with the muscles isn't all brawn after all! He's figured it out, haven't you? Who really did this?"

Alfred looks at me, worriedly. I shake my head. I'm not going to jump to any conclusions Ivan leads me to. "She wouldn't lead us here if that was the answer," I say, "There's more to the story. And we're going to figure it out."

"Hmm," Ivan says, amused, "Should be fun then. I missed having friends to play with."

"Pawns," I reply, "That's the word you're looking for. But we're neither."

"Friends has a nicer ring to it," he says, "I think for now, though, our playdate is over."

From the looks of Alfred's face, he's caught on to the situation, and I can see his clenched fists shaking in aggravation. I pull at his arm, holding him back. "We'll be leaving then."

Ivan does nothing but nod, and disappear back into his lines of potted sunflowers.

"He's lying," Alfred says, chucking another rock at the ground.

We've stopped a few blocks away at an abandoned lot to regroup, realizing that there was no way for either of us to show up back at the apartment without figuring out what to do with this information. Alfred seems set on denying its existence.

"As much as I would like to believe he's completely full of shit, Alfred," I say, watching as he tosses another rock, "We can't just forget everything he's told us. There has to be some truth to what he's said."

"Yeah?" Alfred says, "Some psychopath with flowers for friends has to be telling the truth somehow? That's what you're telling me?"

"I'm not saying Natalya's our suspect," I say, "But we have to look at the possibility of her being involved somehow. Remember when he said he isn't one to get his hands dirty?"

"Yeah, remember him pointing a spade at your throat?"

"Alfred, what I'm saying is that there's a possibility he forced Natalya into being involved with the murder," I say, "And if that's the case, she may have come to us with the hope of someone figuring out that Ivan was behind the entire operation."

Apparently that's not the answer he wants either. "So what do we do from here? Walk up to the apartment and ask, "Hey Natalya, have you ever killed a man?" Sure that'll go over well."

"She's the one who wanted us to visit the place to begin with. She would have realized that Ivan most likely would have said what he did. Natalya knows him better than either of us."

"And if she did it? Do we turn her in?"

I hadn't thought about that. Turning Natalya in doesn't seem as though it would be the morally correct thing to do after all she may have done to lead us to this very point. Lawfully, we should-but I doubt anyone in that family wants to see someone who murdered their own in jail. Dead would probably be preferable. "I think we would have to let her decide that."

"What about Feliciano?"

"We should stop by on the way back. Let him know what's happened," I rub my temples, "If you don't mind."

Alfred's stopped throwing rocks now, and scuffs his shoe around in the dirt. "Let's get going."

We reach the Vargas' restaurant, and I peer up into Feliciano's window just in time to see his head peek through the curtains and quickly disappear. The door swings open shortly, and in a huff, he breathes out, "Did something happen?"

I'm not sure why he's so flustered, or...why I'm flustered, to be honest. Alfred pipes up from behind me, "We have news on the case."

Feliciano sighs, "Ah, I thought-Nonno and Lovino aren't here right now. So I was-I thought-something might have happened to them."

"They left you here by yourself?" I ask, walking past Feliciano and into the restaurant.

"Nonno closed up shop for today to go shopping," Feliciano says, closing the door behind Alfred, "We do it once in a while to restock on some heavier supplies. Nonno's fine then? Lovino?"

"As far as we know," Alfred says, "We're here about Natalya."

"Who?"

Alfred looks at me with an expression that reads "All this thought about Feliciano and you didn't even tell him the name of our 'client'?"

In my defense, I was preoccupied. "Natalya is the woman that came to us about the murder," I say.

Alfred groans as he eases himself into a booth, "And we were just having a talk with Ivan Braginsky about her-"

"You went to talk to him?" Feliciano says, staring at me, "Without telling me?"

Alfred's glancing over at me with a smug look on his face. "I-I didn't want to worry you," I stammer out, "Besides, nothing would have happened-"

Feliciano's cheeks puff, "Did you forget who they've been harassing all this time? Do you know the things they've done to us? And you just thought you could walk in there and nothing would happen?"

"I did think there was a reasonable chance of us getting shot-"

"Turned out to be a typewriter, actually-" Alfred interrupts.

"You thought there was a reasonable chance of getting shot and you still went!" Feliciano says, pacing, "Why didn't you ask me to come? I could have done something-Do you think I like sitting here being useless? They started harassing my family because of me-and you were going to get yourself-"

It's amazing he hasn't knocked himself out with those arm movements. But he...does have a point. The entire situation with the Braginsky's was hinged on the fact that they were looking to blame Feliciano for the murder, and this entire time, he's had absolutely no chances to be a part of solving it.

He huffs, turning back around to face me, "I'm sorry-I just...wanted to be useful. And I don't want anyone else getting hurt because of me. Especially not you."

Alfred's holding back the most shit eating grin I've ever seen.

"I-Of course. I should have told you," I say.

Feliciano whips his head to look at Alfred, "A-And you too. I didn't want you getting hurt either."

Alfred hmm's and nods, smiling softly, "I tried to get him to stop here."

"Wh-You did not!" I shout, "You stood there and watched me stare up at his window without saying a word!"

"I thought if I said anything you'd be embarrassed like you are right now!"

"I'm not embarrassed!"

Feliciano murmurs out of the corner of his mouth, "Your face is bright red."

"It's warm outside!" I retort, "A-And even then, what does it matter? We're here now. And I'm fine."

"That's another thing!" Feliciano says, crossing his arms, "You completely froze up on me the other night when you walked me home! What was that supposed to mean?"

"Oh ho, you did what, Lud?" Alfred asks, looking gleeful.

"Did you know right then that you were about to go off without me?"

"Is anyone going to tell me what he did-"

"No!" I shout back defensively. This conversation is far too rapid fire for my narration to be up to par. Someone needs to tell them to stop flustering the narrator. "We only went today because of what happened to Natalya last night. It was spur of the moment!"

Feliciano leans in close, looking up at me, "Then why," he says, narrowing his eyes, "Did you freeze up yesterday?"

Alfred's completely enjoying this round of schadenfreude, and I have a faint idea that Feliciano might just be doing this to get back at me for my actions. I gulp. "Personal reasons."

Alfred snorts behind his hand, and when I turn to glare at him, he waves me away.

Feliciano starts laughing too. "Personal reasons?"

"Y-Yes," I say, "That's what I said."

"Okay, Lud," he shrugs. I wonder when he started this 'Lud' thing. "You're still not in the clear with me. Just-promise you two will tell me what's going on from now on?"

Alfred places a hand to his heart, "If it means more of this, you have my word."

Bastard.

"We will," I say, "Anyway-the reason we came here-"

"Oh, yeah!" Feliciano says, sitting down across from Alfred at the booth, "What happened with Natalya?"

"Braginsky's beat the shit out of her last night, and she came to the diner for help," Alfred says, "So we decided it was finally time to have a talk with Ivan."

"And what did he say?"

"He was pretty put-off when we mentioned there was no way in hell it was you," Alfred shrugs, "But I think he's going to forget about trying. And anyway-he's got us looking at someone else that might have done it."

"Natalya," I add, and Feliciano's eyes widen, "He's hinting towards her having something to do with it."

"Why would she go to you if she already knew who the murderer was?" Feliciano asks.

I had been wondering that myself since we left, and after what Alfred and I had discussed, there seemed like one probable conclusion. "To keep your family safe, I believe. If she knew she was behind it, but that Ivan was going to use that fact against her to take down your family, the only thing left to do was to make sure the blame focused back on her so that Ivan had no excuse."

Feliciano is silent for a moment. "Is that why he beat her?"

I can tell this isn't what he wants. Alfred looks sympathetic as well. "It wasn't the first time he's done that to her. And-we also don't think he's telling us the full story."

Feliciano's hands ball into fists. "The next time you go to see him-bring me along."

"Feliciano-"

"No, Ludwig," he says, "I'm serious. I'm not going to sit back and let people do things for me any longer. Take me with you next time or I'll go by myself. Promise me."

"I promise," I say. There's nothing I can do to stop him.

Alfred sighs, "We still have to get back and tell the others what's happened."

He's right. We've been gone for several hours now. Any longer and Gilbert was bound to have a heart attack. There was also the chance of Mr. and Mrs. Jones realizing we're out for more than just a simple run to a store. Alfred stands up. "He's right," I say, "We should get going."

Feliciano nods, staring down at the table. I glance at Alfred. He seems to get the idea. "I'll start heading out," he says, "See you around, Feliciano. Tell Lovino and your grandfather we said hello."

"I will," Feliciano says, waving, "See you!"

Alfred closes the door behind him, and I know he's just slipped around the corner to wait. Feliciano looks up at me, "You should get going. Alfred seems like a fast walker."

I can't tell if this is a hint for me to leave or not, "Are you alright here alone?"

"It's fine," Feliciano says, "I have a cat, actually. Gino. Nonno lets him stay so long as he doesn't bother the guests, so I'm not alone."

I'm not about to get into the debate of lonely verses alone, but I can't help thinking a cat isn't necessarily the best conversationalist, nor something that could really keep him from worrying if he's going to be harassed again. He shoots me a look.

"I can take care of myself, you know," he says, but there's a smile on his face.

"Right, no-" I stammer again, "I know you can. I was just-"

"Why are you still here?" he asks, and then waves his hands, "I-I don't mean to sound rude! It's really just a question."

I'm not sure I know myself. I don't respond. He sighs. "Erm. About yesterday-"

"I'm sorry about that," I blurt, "I really don't know what came over me."

"No, no, it's fine," Feliciano says, rubbing the back of his neck, "I was just worried I did something wrong. Hugging you, I mean."

He's staring back at the table again, flushed. It's odd. I hadn't really thought about the possibility of Feliciano being just as flustered about this situation as I was. I fake a cough, "No, that-I appreciated that."

"Appreciated?" Feliciano says, cocking an eyebrow, "You word things so funny."

"What other word for it is there?" I ask, feeling the heat raise to my ears, "I appreciated it."

He laughs, and I can feel him relax, "You liked it, maybe?"

"That sounds stranger," I retort.

He looks thoughtful for a moment, and then nods, "Yeah, you're probably right. Either way-"

"Either way?"

"Would you mind if I did it again?"

He's playing with his hands, avoiding turning this way. It's funny the way you assume no one else but you could ever feel confused or flustered about this sort of thing. Somehow-I suppose I thought Feliciano was completely immune.

"No," I say, and he's still sitting in that booth, but had I been able to, I would have returned the favor.

Feliciano smiles up at me, and rubs at his eyes. "I thought maybe I had scared you off. I'm glad."

My words are sticking to my throat again. I know what I want to say, but I'm not sure if I'm capable of saying it. Or rather-moving. Somehow, I muster out, "Feliciano?"

He peers an eye open, "Hm?"

"I-" this is harder than I had assumed, "I'm sorry. About earlier. Not telling you."

"Oh," he says, bemused, "Right. No, you're fine. I understand."

"And," my throat feels dry, "I was wondering-"

"About?"

He's standing now, leaning over the table towards me. My face feels hot. I'm not entirely sure if my head is aware of where I'm going with this. "I was wondering if I could-"

Feliciano's laughter suddenly bubbles from his mouth, "If you're going to kiss me, just do it."

"I-What?" How in the goddamn-How did he-

"You've been staring at my face this entire time, Lud," Feliciano says sheepishly, "I mean, that is what you were thinking about, right?"

"Well yes-I mean, maybe," I still can't believe he caught on, "I-Is that a yes?"

He moves from behind the booth, and comes just close enough to where he has to tilt his head to see me. "The more we talk about this the more embarrassing it's going to get."

"Fair point."

He stretches on his toes, and pouts a little, "You'll have to lean down."

I nod, and after what seems like an hour of inching closer.

I kiss him.