A/N: Thank you all for the favs/reviews/alerts! Failishly slow update. oTL
Sp/grammatical errors and DM linked words will be corrected after publication. I only proofreaded once or twice this time, I'm sorry! ;A;
Notes:-I'm replying to your reviews using the review replier thingy, so it doesn't show up in my outbox anymore. Thus I have no record of what I've wrote to you guys. If it seems random or if I sound like I'm high, then I'm probably hyped up on sugar. I apologize in advance!
-So. Looks like axe throwing contests are real (according to an awesome reviewer). Ahahaha, to think that Sweden's lovely waifu would be the usual winner! XD
-I also read about flying [in airplanes! LOL] in the 1960. It's pretty interesting. You just pay your money, no ID needed, no security checks, and most people wore nice clothes (because flying was a rare event). Oh, and flight attendants were young and pretty had skirts so short Francis would kill for them. Most people who flew were businessmen, sometimes families. And yeah, I made up the ticket price, but back in the 1960s, that was a lot of money. I think.
-Don't worry, 1960!Spain and 1960!Romano will appear in PTP.
-Doujin? Read it yet? Hmm? 8D
-If you have anything you want to ask, my email is in profile. Thanks!
EDIT: AW, dammit. Writer's block. Chapter 9 will be out a little slower than usual. I apologize. oTL
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.
November 29, 1960, Manhattan, New York, airport, 1:31 P.M…
The taxi ride had felt like an eternity, especially when Natalia was in the car. It was as if the traffic had been purposely avoiding them before and now they were back. However, Adrian and Mikhail hadn't spotted either Russia or America chasing them, though they reckoned that that would happen sooner or later.
They'd arrived at the airport ten minutes ago and all five of them were waiting in the airport ticket line, gathering curious looks from people wondering why none of them had any luggage and were dressed so casually. Most were businessmen in crisp suits who stared at the boys and whistled to Natalia. Adrian thought his parents knew what they were doing, so he followed them without too many questions.
"What do think you're doing, Alfred?"
He twiddled with his wallet. "Well, we're going to Strasbourg."
Ivan's eye twitched. "This is no time to take a vacation—"
"Quiet down, do you want the others to hear your accent? We're going to France because Iggy must be spending the holidays with Francis, and I remember that Francis was in Strasbourg in 1960 recovering from his wounds."
"How can you be sure—"
"I don't, I'm assuming."
"But I thought you were still with England in the 19—"
"He's with Francis."
"…are you sure?"
"Geez, Ivan, I'm not one hundred percent positive! It's been fifty years, you forget shit. Besides, my gut tells me that this is right."
"You said that in a McDonald when you ordered a Big Mac and fries."
After watching his parents bicker quietly amongst themselves, Adrian leaned over to his brother, whispering, "Why do you think America and Russia aren't following us?" With America's attitude and the unstable mental state of Russia, Adrian thought it strange that they'd given up so easily.
Before Mikhail could reply, Natalia answered monotonously, staring at the lady at the ticket counter, "I left a smoke canister, although I am assuming that it has worn off thirty minutes ago, and America and my brother will be waking up in the alley sometime around now."
Adrian could see her hand patting her thigh, where her knives were strapped. He wished the men in the line would stop calling out to Natalia, unless they wanted to get killed, or that his aunt would stop touching her own thigh, because the motion was sort of suggestive to the others... "I-I see…"
Alfred made his way to the counter and flashed his brightest, most fake smile at the agent, who did not return the gesture. Her face had a brittle, glasslike quality, as if it could shatter if too much pressure was applied. Her ever-present scowl and Alfred's beaming face did nothing to improve her looks.
"Yes?" intoned the agent.
"We'd like five tickets to Strasbourg. When's the earliest flight?"
The lady stamped page after page in a folder with incredible force using a worn wooden stamp. "Sold out. Everybody wants to go to the Christmas market, and well, you're too late."
Alfred tried again, "How about Paris?"
The lady looked up and scanned Alfred's outfit. "Get lost, kid. One ticket to France would cost around two hundred dollars, five tickets would be a thousand, and I'm sure you can't afford that."
The American peeled ten hundred dollar bills from his wallet and slid it towards the woman. "Five tickets to France, please."
She was too shocked to notice the difference on the modern hundred dollar bills. "H-how did you…" She seemed to be making up her mind; that, or making up excuses, for this was the first time in her life she'd been proven so wrong by a mere boy. "T-this is a respectable airline, Sir, I'm afraid I can't let you on board. The way you are dressed…the other passengers won't be comfortable—"
"—seeing a guy on an airplane in a t-shirt? What do I have to do, wear a tuxedo?"
"Sir—"
Ivan turned to the lady and slammed his hands on the counter, making her flinch. "I believe that he has requested five tickets to France." And reaching inside his trench coat, Ivan pulled out a wad of cash bound together with a thin strip of paper, which he promptly dropped on the counter. "You understand, да?"
The woman gulped and hesitantly replaced the money with five pieces of printed paper without looking at the bills. "Yes, Sir. Your flight will be leaving for Paris at three, and your gate is located down that path on the right. H-have a nice day."
Alfred reached inside Ivan's coat once they left the counter. "Why do you have a cash—God, you strap cash inside your coat?"
"Precautionary measure." Ivan smirked at Alfred as he pocketed the tickets. "Nice try, kid."
Ivan spent the next one and a half hours attempting to appease a fuming Alfred. Adrian and Mikhail, for their part, followed their Aunt Natalia around, who was busy threatening old businessmen that were crawling up her back. Truthfully, they felt safer having her at their side, even if there were perverted geezers trailing after her.
In an alley, far, far away from the airport, America would be waking up from Natalia's smoke canister and scream bloody murder when he realized that he had, in fact, curled up and fallen asleep next to Russia, and that he'd liked it.
November 29, 1960, Germany's house, guest bedroom, 11:45 P.M…
Germany had done as he promised, but Felicita had the feeling that he knew they were lying, even if he'd decided to play along. They'd searched a small part of the city, and the worst part was that Italy always lingered one or two steps behind, as if afraid to come closer.
Their guest bedroom was neat and tidy, but that was only to be expected from Germany. Italy had retreated into another guest bedroom long ago and had not come out since. The bed was big enough for two, so the girls had decided to share it. Felicita was a bit apprehensive about sleeping next to Aloisa, especially after she'd seen how Mikhail had fared when he'd slept next to her, but she ignored it (although it was true that she didn't sleep very well last night).
Felicita had a hard time yesterday finding a right moment to show Aloisa the picture she'd found under the couch. In the morning, Aloisa seemed to be quite stressed, and Felicita didn't want to add to that; for most of the day Germany kept a careful eye on them, not to mention pelting them with questions; at night, Aloisa appeared too tired and depressed to listen to Felicita.
"Lights out, Felicita," Aloisa said, turning off the lamps.
"Good night," Felicita returned.
She turned to the edge of the bed and reached inside her jean pocket; the photo was still there, crumple. She fumbled with it and took it out, but the rustling noise made Aloisa flip to her side.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Nothing."
"Let me see."
"Good night, Aloisa."
Aloisa turned the lights back on, her expression more worried than livid. "Let me see."
Felicita sighed and handed her the picture. "I was going to show it to you, but you seemed too…zoned out, I guess…"
The blond examined the photo, narrowing her eyes. "Where did you find this?"
"Under the couch—hey, where are you going?"
Aloisa rummaged in the drawer and took out a flashlight, beckoning Felicita to follow. "There is a paper-clipped mark on the photo. It must've fallen loose from another stack."
The girls went down the staircase and towards the living room, carefully avoiding the steps that creaked. Aloisa tiptoed ahead and noticed the fireplace, now filled with half-burnt logs and smoke emitting from them.
"It's gone out. Hold on, I'll light it again," Aloisa said.
She fingered the top of the fireplace until she felt a package of matches, which she lit and threw amongst the logs. It fizzled and cracked and the light went out momentarily before returning in the form of warm, glowing embers that began to grow bigger and bigger.
Aster, Blackie, and Berlitz snuck up on Aloisa and sniffed her ankles, making Aloisa jump in fright, but they stayed quiet and settled down next the fire, their eyes closing once more. The fire was comforting; Aloisa's house had a fireplace, and she'd liked to gather around it with the dogs and pretend they were roasting wursts or marshmallows when she was younger. And her Vati would sit on the sofa, wearing his reading glasses and gazing at the words on his book, while her Mama would snuggle next to him and doodle out another outfit design for the company or just draw random things in his sketchbook. At that time, Aloisa remembered that she'd thought about how young her parents appeared with the fire reflecting on their faces.
"Where did you find the photo?"
Felicita knelt and peered under the couch. "Hand me your flashlight."
Aloisa did so, and soon Felicita fished out a folder hidden deep under the couch, covered with dust, but the file was not yellow or aged.
"I got it," Felicita said, handing the file over to Aloisa. "It's labeled, but it's in German."
Apparently Felicita assumed that Aloisa knew more German than her, but unfortunately she was wrong. Aloisa pretended to know what she was doing as she read the notes pasted on the cover first: in German were squiggly handwritten notes initialed by the letters T.H., and in bold writing, the handwriting that was her Vati's, was one recognizable word she'd learned from her Onkel Gilbert—destroy. Using her finger, she traced back to the paragraph 'T.H.' wrote and spotted three more words she knew (actually, she was guessing)—return to government.
"I think T.H. is Dad's boss…so he'd be the President," Aloisa concluded. "And he wants my dad to give this back to him. But my dad wrote, destroy, as a memo."
"Maybe he intended to keep it."
Aloisa opened the folder, and an opened letter slipped out, addressed to Ludwig Beilschmidt from Feliciano Vargas with a label, URGENT, on it. Surprisingly, the letter was in English, although the handwriting was shaky and illegible. Only she and her Vati knew how to interpret it, but just barely.
She read it aloud softly for the sake of Felicita, who was staring at the paper as if it was written in code: "August 20, 1945. Ludwig, I know I am the last person in the world you want to see, and that you might just as well rip this letter into pieces, but I will be visiting Kiku in the hospital soon, and I was wondering—" Aloisa paused for a second, for the next part she thought was scratched out and she lost her place. "Please come to Japan with me. I'm so worried about Kiku…I-I can't figure out what the rest says."
Felicita scooted closer to Aloisa. "This file only has letters from your mom to your dad. He didn't open some of the later ones…"
Aloisa swallowed. "I think these are the World War II information my dad didn't give me." She turned to Felicita. "Open them. Open the rest."
The brunette handed the letters to Aloisa. "That's all of them. I can only read the dates though. Seems like the one we read first was the last letter your mom sent your dad."
With shaky hands, Aloisa raised one letter and began reading it: "August 10, 1945. Terrible news. Kiku's been attacked. I don't know how he's doing right now…Please reply."
She wetted her lips and scanned another one: "September 8, 1943. I guess you've heard already. The war is ending, Ludwig, and everyone's fighting a losing battle. I have not given up on you, and I will never give up, but I have given up on this war…"
And another one: "November 5, 1942. Ludwig, I need you to listen to me. The camps are killing you. He has lied to you, he's been lying to you all the time. Please stop…"
And another one, though this mail was previously opened by Germany: "January 26, 1941. Thank you so much for taking me to the ice cream parlor! Maybe it was just me, but you seemed sort of distracted…I think I'm imagining things. By the way, are you coming over next week? Ti amo!"
Aloisa shuffled to the earliest one, dated 1940: "December 15, 1940. Let's invite Kiku over for the Christmas market, it'll be loads of fun! I'll see you next Saturday. Ti amo!"
Felicita blinked at Aloisa, who'd gotten up and carried the pile of letters to the fireplace. "There's still more, Aloisa. Aren't you going to read them—wait, what are you doing?"
Silently, Aloisa threw most of the letters into the fire, waiting for them to blacken and burn and crumble into ashes. She still had one more letter in her hand, the ice cream parlor letter. That was the turning point, she decided. That was when things became different. She flicked that letter into the fire also, watching the 'ti amo' on the paper shrivel.
Felicita gaped at her, astounded. "Why did you do that?"
"I've seen them," Aloisa told her. "Now that I've seen the papers my dad didn't give me, I don't need to see them again. I'm doing him a favor."
"But what if he finds out that they're missing?" Felicita wrung her hands, exasperated. "He'll know we had something to do with it—"
"No he won't. I doubt if he'll even care. Can you hand me the fireplace shovel? It's next to Blackie."
Once the fire was put out, the dogs raised their heads groggily and moved to different corners of the room, burrowing themselves into warmer places.
"Let's go back to bed," Aloisa said, checking the clock on the wall. "It's already…tomorrow. Twelve thirty in the morning. We've got another long day tomorrow."
"Yeah."
"Do you miss your parents?"
Felicita laughed uneasily. "Why all of a sudden?"
"Just wondering."
"Yes, of course I do. Won't it be nice if they dropped in here for tea tomorrow?"
"Sure. And Onkel Gilbert will come dancing like a maniac the day after that with beer for everyone."
"…are you being sarcastic?"
"I'm just dreaming happy thoughts with you. Hell, I wouldn't mind seeing Onkel Gilbert right now. "
The girl's expression softened. "So are you okay? I mean, with your parents like this…"
"I'm fine," Aloisa answered. "We just have to put up with it until we find some way to leave."
"Maybe our parents are looking for us."
"I hope so, too."
"Hey, Aloisa?"
"Yeah?"
"You won't have the World War Two papers in your file anymore, you know that, right?"
Aloisa gave her an unreadable smile. "We weren't supposed to have them."
They entered their bedroom Felicita and swung the door shut soundlessly. It had been a difficult day, and both of them knew that tomorrow would be no different.
But Gilbert waltzing into the house with beer was a nice thought.
November 30, 1960, Strasbourg, France, post office, 5:21 A.M…
Evangeline thought she'd done a rather beautiful job with the letter. England's address was printed neatly in cursive and she'd found lots of stamps stashed in the back of the drawer. She didn't know exactly how many she should put, but she stuck about ten of them, just in case.
She'd seen the main post office yesterday when she was basically touring the place with France, and she struggled to remember which path she'd taken. It didn't take her too long, however. She found the post office and slipped through the doors. She could've thrown the mail into a mailbox, but she didn't have that kind of time.
"I'd like to send this to Arthur Kirkland in England, please," she told the lady at the counter. "Is there any way it can reach him…like, today?"
The woman looked up; she had a sharp, pretty face, her hair combed back into a ponytail that reminded Evangeline strangely of Aloisa or her dad. She licked her lips and drummed the table with her manicured fingers unconcernedly.
"I apologize," she said coolly in a strong accent, "but it is the holiday season. Do you really think we can send mail overseas on such short notice during this time?"
Evangeline pushed the letter to her nonetheless. "But it's really important. It absolutely has to reach Arthur Kirkland today."
She rolled her eyes. "Listen, little girl. We cannot send your letter immediately. Besides, my shift is over." She grabbed her coat and stood up. "Please come back again."
"But it's from Francis Bonnefoy!"
The lady froze and stared at Evangeline. "It is from Monsieur Bonnefoy? I'd like to slap that creep in the face twice, but since he has been placed in the highest importance here…" She sniffed contemptuously and snatched Evangeline's letter. "I will see to it that the letter be delivered and received today. May I ask who is sending the letter?"
"Francis Bonnefoy."
"No, I meant your name."
"Oh, um…" She hesitated. "Why?"
"Required," the woman sighed. She had much better things to do than bother with this girl, but it was standard procedure to ask the sender's name when the letter was from Francis Bonnefoy. All she knew was that he was closely related to the government and whoever he sent a letter to the messenger's name was required.
"Are you going to tell anyone?"
"Of course not, ma cher…" she lied, annoyed.
The girl exhaled. "My name is Evangeline Bonnefoy. Is that all?"
The lady started, almost dropping the mail. "You are related to him?"
"I'm his daughter," she admitted. "But he doesn't know." Wait, that had come out wrong…
"Oh, you poor dear," the woman crooned, misinterpreting the sentence. "I hope everything is alright—" She knew Francis fooled around, but not like this! To have a daughter without knowing…that was quite serious…
"I'm fine, I'm fine," Evangeline reassured the woman. "I just need that letter to be received today."
"Of course, anything."
Evangeline dashed back to France's house then, wondering if she should've lied about her name.
November 30, present, Evangeline's house, front lawn, 4:55 P.M…
"What do we do now?"
Yukiko lied on her back, watching the clouds rearrange themselves. "Nothing," she answered Annelise.
"But we've been doing that for thirty minutes."
"Then we'll keep doing it for another ten minutes, and then we'll go inside. Is that okay with you, Eirik?"
"Mhmm."
"See, he says it's okay."
"But it's boring—"
"Excuse me," said a new voice. "Is Alec Bonnefoy at home?"
Annelise rolled over and stood up. "I'm sorry, but who are you?"
The girl puckered her lips slightly in a cute gesture, but Eirik wrinkled his nose. She reeked of perfume and perfume and perfume. "My name is Melanie Beaumont, Alec's girlfriend. Alec hasn't shown up for school for two days, so I was wondering where he was…"
Yukiko sat upright and studied the girl. She had an alluring face, shining with thick makeup, but her smile was unfriendly, as if the girl had other intentions. "He's away. Family emergency."
"Oh my, I'm so sorry," she said, her voice dripping fake sympathy. "Will you give this letter to Alec then?" She handed the envelope to Yukiko. "Make sure that he gets it, will you?"
"Sure."
Yukiko pursed her lips as Melanie waddled away. Annelise grabbed the letter out of Yukiko's hands and grinned. "Alec's girlfriend gave him a love letter!" she exclaimed. "That's so romantic!"
The smaller girl huffed disbelievingly. "You know Alec's with Adrian right now, so that couldn't have been his girlfriend. There's something off about this…hand me that letter."
"You shouldn't open Alec's things, Yukiko."
Yukiko tore at the top part of the letter. "I know, but—ah…!"
She dropped the letter and stuck her finger in her mouth, sucking on the wound. There were a two thin pieces of cosmetic blades attached to the envelope's opening, placed on each end of the envelope so that the receiver would cut him or herself upon tearing it. Yukiko took her finger out and watched the cut heal and close up.
"Are you okay?" Annelise asked.
"I'm fine," Yukiko said. She detached the blades and tore the envelope open; written on the inside in red, jagged letters were the words, Stay away from Adrian. "But Alec isn't."
