A/N: It has been quite literally ages since I last updated this. The good news? I actually have a storyline written down and am currently developing it as we speak... or, as you read, rather. The bad news? I probably won't be able to update too often seeing as I have school and most of my attention has been thrown into the writing of "Through These Albino Eyes" (I'm in love with that story...).
Please enjoy this new chapter!
Chapter 7: Family
Evening was settling slowly for the Circle, bringing with it the whisper of a threat from a distant (though deadly) figure and the reminder of the events of the previous night. Ludwig sighed heavily as he emerged from the kitchen bearing the steaming plates of what was to be a shared supper with Feliciano.
"How's Antonio?" he asked quietly, seating himself in one of the chairs of Roderich's uncomfortable dining set and placing the pasta before the smaller man. "Any news?"
"He's stable." The uncharacteristically gloomy tone worried the blonde. When Feliciano lifted his troubled gaze to him, he saw that his eyes were full of tears. "Is it my fault, Ludwig?"
"Your fault?" Ludwig was taken aback. "How could you be to blame for his injury?"
After poking wordlessly at the food, the Italian whispered, "It's me the Russians want, isn't it? My money and influence?"
"Feliciano…" Surprised at the depths of the other's worries, the larger man took his hand into his own. "You can't blame yourself for what happened. We all knew there would be a risk of living here."
"What if I ran away and hid from all of you? Would you all be safe then?"
Resolve and terror swirled in the honey-toned depths of the brunette's eyes as he gazed mournfully up at his lover, successfully sending sharp pains shooting through Ludwig's broad chest.
"Would you?"
"No." Without a moment of hesitation, he leaned forward and gently caught Feliciano's lips with his.
There was a pause, then Feliciano pulled away. "B-but, Ludwig…"
"No matter what happens, I can't be separated from you," he whispered, cupping the other's face. "It's my oath… both for duty and for (here he brought in a shallow inhale) love."
"But if something happens to you, I'll-"
"Nothing will happen to me, Feliciano." Ludwig promised, ice-blue eyes holding all the steel and determination on the day that they'd first met. "You're the one we are defending, after all."
Before the Italian could reply, Roderich swept into the room.
"Am I interrupting?" he asked almost irritably, observing the two men in such close proximity as they were. Withdrawing his hand from Feliciano's cheek, the German got to his feet.
"What is it, Roderich?"
"Vash called." Lifting his cell phone to the others, the Austrian cleared his throat. "He has some information that might come in handy."
"Such as?"
"It would seem that Ivan has two sisters." Roderich sensed Ludwig beginning to question the relevance of such a statement, and raised a stern finger to silence him. "One, the younger of the three, is involved in his Mafiya schemes. The eldest, Ekaterina, is the one of interest to us."
The blonde crossed thick arms across his chest and waited for what he hoped (for Roderich's sake) would be a reasonable explanation.
"Ekaterina works in a school in the next state over."
Feliciano tapped anxiously at his lover's shoulder, expression troubled. "W-we're not going to kill her… are we?"
"Of course not," the answer was unhesitant and sharp. "But we may need to move and use her as a sort of… bargaining chip."
"Not cool." Alfred appeared in the doorway, munching on something stolen from the kitchen and looking vaguely scandalized. "A hero can't use a woman for dastardly plots – it's against the rules!"
"Since when are there rules?" In a flat voice, Ludwig grumbled, "And since when do they apply to you?"
"Y'know, you've got a point there." Shoving his glasses back up his nose, the American laughed. "What's this lucky lady look like, anyway?"
"Like this."
The touch screen of the cellular device displayed a modestly pretty young woman with short, platinum hair, kind eyes, and…
"Those are some serious 'tracts of land'," Alfred pointed out shamelessly, open hands gesturing roundly to his chest area. "No way those are real…"
Ignoring him, the Austrian thumbed through the pictures until he held the phone out again, announcing, "And this is the younger sister, Natalya."
The color seemed to drain from the energetic blonde's face, making him appear almost to have been frozen into a marble statue of himself.
"You recognize her?" Ludwig asked, vigilantly watching Feliciano eat from the corner of his eye lest he choke to death on the leftover noodles.
"She was at the school last June." Licking nervously at his dry lips, Alfred added, "I shot her when she tried to kill Francis."
"Clearly you didn't do a very good job of it," the German grunted. Tapping a finger thoughtfully at his square chin, he mused, "Ask Elizabeta if she recognizes this woman – she said the bomber last night was one of the Russians. Maybe it's this Natalya."
"Right." Roderich straightened his spectacles and marched stiffly from the room, leaving the two blondes with Feliciano.
"Your brother's not doing so hot," Alfred informed Ludwig, taking a seat across from them and kicking his heels up onto the table in an action that made the former guard wince inwardly. "I mean, he's briefing Ber-whatisface right now, but he's seriously bummed about the blindness thing."
"Do you really blame him?" Bringing a forkful of pasta to his own lips, Ludwig sighed.
"Don't worry, Alfred," Feliciano burst in, raising his wineglass and tilting it toward the American. "I'm sure Prussia's eyesight will get better soon – we just have to stay optimistic about it."
"How do you do it, Feli?" He chuckled, pushing his glasses up onto his forehead to dig the heels of his hands into his sockets. "People tell me that I'm too happy all the time, but you beat me out any day."
Grinning, the brunette replied, "I have Ludwig with me all the time, and that makes me happy."
His German counterpart blushed.
"Aw, Luddy makes Feli happy, does he?" Alfred couldn't restrain from saying, winking playfully at the taller man. "Isn't that just sweet~?"
Before he could form an indignant reply, Berwald swept into the room.
"L'dw'g?"
"Did you need something?"
The Swede nodded slowly. "'t's 'bout th' 'nf'rm'tion c'ncern'ng th' R'ss'ns."
The three other men fixed him with questioning looks.
"You know more about the Ruskies?"
"Th' 'ne who s'nt th' tip w's 'ne 'f m'wife's c'nt'cts," he explained, looking uncomfortable being the center of so much attention. "B't 'f th't's out, h's pr'b'bly dead n'w."
"Wait... Your wife?" Feliciano asked, hung up on this revelation. With a small frown, he appraised the threatening-looking blonde. "Are you married, Berwald?"
"Yes."
"Not now, Feliciano." Resting a hand on his lover's shoulder, Ludwig inquired, "These contacts… who are they?"
"J'st s'me 'ld fr'nds."
"Did he say anything else?" The bespectacled youth was practically jumping across the table with excitement, giving off the air of one ready to go out and tackle the Russian threat on his own. "What else do you know about these guys? Does their head have, like, a kryptonite or something?"
Berwald cleared his throat, hiding his mouth behind his hand as he spoke. "Mm… I've he'rd th't m'st 'f 'van's s'b'rd'n'tes 're 'g'inst h'm – th'y're h'ld 'n pl'ce b'cause th'y're 'fraid 'f h'm."
"Well, that's how mobs work," Alfred replied, his tone more knowing than one would expect. Ludwig cast him a sharp, searching look. "But they're against him? Huh… usually there're a few nuts who actually respect their boss enough to follow him…"
"Th't's N't'lya."
"The sister?" The German frowned.
"Yes, the sister." Roderich appeared in the doorway with Elizabeta at his elbow. "She was the one who bombed us yesterday evening."
Tino yawned widely, barely covering his gaping mouth with his hand in time to preserve his dignity. Beside him, his son shifted restlessly in his seat
"Dad, why're we going to the States?"
"We're going to meet your papa," his father replied, smiling at him. "We're going to find out what all this nonsense is about, hm?"
"Is he having an affair?" Peter asked, brows drawn low. "I've heard about them on TV – is he gone to the States for an affair?"
"No," was the swift response. "Your papa's better than something like that. I'm just worried he's gotten himself into something bigger than he first expected."
For a long moment, the boy was silent, watching as his feet swung back and forth above the carpeted floor of the aircraft. Then, finally, he turned to meet the man's pale eyes with unyielding blue. "If someone hurts Papa, I'll kill them."
"What a thing to say!" Tino scolded, glancing around at the other passengers to ensure that no one else had heard the whispered threat. The last thing they needed was to be hauled from the airplane and regarded as potential terrorists.
The moment passed, and Peter became a normal nine-year-old once more. Even so, the Fin could still see his son's fingers turning white as they clutched the armrests.
Where are you, Berwald? he found himself wondering desperately, closing his eyes and pretending to be asleep so as not to be bothered by the flight staff. We need you.
