::A/N:: I don't own Hetalia.

I'm posting this again because of some German mistakes ^^; THANK YOU LOTHLORIEN93! What would I do without you?

So, short chapter is short. I've been struggling a little lately, so I'm sorry if this is total crap. I had more to this chapter, but it got too long, so I broke it half. Enjoy~

Lars = Netherlands


Victoire POV

Tap. Tap. Tap.

11:10

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

11:11

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

11:12

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Chérie."

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Chérie."

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

"You do not need to tap away the seconds, they are going fast enough."

"They're dead, aren't they? They're all dead."

"Non-"

"SHIT!" I scream, slamming a fist against the wooden table. "On my watch too. On my watch."

"Sometimes, there is nothing we can do, chérie."

"It just hurts," I whisper, my voice rising an octave in despair. "I just- I was not ever very nice to Arthur, and now he is gone, oui? It is terribly unfair."

Francis shifts positions and holds out his arms. Like a little girl, I sniffle and plop down in his lap, taking fistfuls of his shirt, and burying my face into his shoulder, discreetly attempting to hide the snot stains slowly spreading there. "Victoire, it is not your fault the line was compromised, non? Try not to beat yourself up over it."

"I just- I just- Anyone could have done that better than me. Even Lars could have managed that situation better!"

"The druggy? I don't think so..."

I hiccup. "Perhaps you're right."

He nods, and his scraggly beard catches on my hair. "Trust me on this one." The 'th' comes out as a 'z', but I hardly notice anymore. With a jolt, I realize the only reason I noticed at all was because of how different he sounds from Arthur's prim British. Arthur who I've killed.

I start in on a new round of crying, not feeling mollified in the least by the painful hiccuping that accompanies it. Francis enshrouds me in arms, cooing a soft French lullaby in my ear. It's sweet of him.

At the sound of footsteps, I quickly reach for a tissue. It slips from between my fingers in a flurry of haste, but Francis grabs it instead and hurriedly wipes away my tears.

A sigh resonates through the room. "Break a nail, love?" a British voice snorts. My heart leaps. I turn to the voice, all too aware of my disarray.

"Why non, Arthur. I was mourning a friend."

He raises one giant eyebrow, the piercing that was there this morning now removed. He's more handsome without it. "Did a twat bite the dust?"

"He almost did," I nod, delicately hopping off of Francis' lap. "I was stricken. He's very special to me."

Arthur's eyes narrow. "Obviously, considering the fact you are all over that frog."

I gape at him. "What?"

"I walk in here and you and the frog are-"

"Hugging, Arthur," Francis cuts in. "Hugging. But of course, I expect you know nothing about the delicate are of l'amour-"

"Oh bloody shut up," Arthur groans, half his attention on us, one eye looking out into the hallway. "Alfred!" he yells. "Get your buttocks in here! If you tell that blasted story about the 'super hot babe who almost shot you' one more bleeding time, I'm going to cut your arm off myself, you ninny!"

"Art!" Alfred's voice sounds reasonably close. "That seriously wouldn't help at all. I mean, really."

"Bloody fool," Arthur mutters, glancing back at me once more.

"Is he all right? In fact, is everyone all right? Gil and Liza and-"

"Yes, thank you, I do know who was there," Arthur grumbles, motioning for me to shut up. "Ludwig said to inform you that the mission was a failure. I assume you realized that from the frantic conversation we shared. You are to go immediately to Vash's office, Frog."

"And I?"

Arthur barely spares me a second look. "You are not to accompany him."

Arthur leaves, yelling something unintelligible to Alfred. Francis walks up to me. His hands are in his pockets, but he removes one to rest it briefly on my shoulder. "Do not fret, chérie. I will inform you of everything that is said."

I nod sharply.

His smile softens. "Arthur would not have come tonight if he didn't wish to see you. Do not let yourself be fooled by that pitiful lack of human emotion."

My nod is a little gentler this time.


Elizaveta POV

"We know when."

"Today, duh."

"They were united before then?"

"No, tonight was the first test."

"But they're joining?"

A nod. "Hai, he approached Wang and requested the presence of the organization. I believe it is his desire to increase the size of his own, among other things."

"Why the fuck are we getting this shit now?"

"Excuse me, I do not believe I understand."

"He means, why haven't you mentioned this before?"

"Ah, I see. It did not seem prudent at the time."

"Prudent- Was? Ja, it is all prudent. We have been targets for several assassinations in the past months, Mr. Honda."

"My apologies, Beilschmidt-san."

"Why did you leave?"

"Pardon?"

"Why did you fucking leave the Asian Ring?"

"Excuse me for mishearing, Vargas-san."

"Dude, just answer the question. It's weird when you go in circles like this!"

"I-"

"That's enough."

We turn to meet Vash's command for respect.

"Do we know where?"

"Nein."

"Kiku?"

"No, I left before becoming involved with the new reformation."

"We know what, though?"

"Hai. They are one of the sole networks in Russia. They are definitely the largest. They eliminated all other competition around them."

"The Russian sect is headed by the latest son of the Braginski family."

"First name?"

"Unknown."

"Pourquoi?"

"That family is private. Apparently for good reason. They're wealthy sponsors for several organizations in Russia: ones that abide by the law and ones that don't."

"That's all we know? Just that they're the ones who screwed with us?"

"They didn't just screw with you. They bleeding uprooted my brothers and I.
We were part of a connected network between the United States, the United Kingdom, and Canada."

"Pity, you were destroyed."

"Shut your trap, frog. We are not destroyed. I have three other brothers in the U.K. at this moment, and we were only some of many."

"I never heard of this 'connected network' before you four waltzed in."

"You wouldn't have, bro. Art was a cop before this, and he hadn't heard neither."

"I have more connections than the police force," Vash replies.

"But we're incredibly silent. I remained on the force during my first several years in the network. I was never suspected."

"You were once."

"I was, and then some other chap got ruined for it. Someone was certainly watching out for me."

"You didn't know who?"

"That was part of the appeal. We only knew a handful of others, and only one or two were actually in our region, for the explicit purpose of contacting for assistance. Each handful made a group-"

Alfred coughs. "Gang."

"-group, and each member only knew the others in this specific group. We had no idea who was actually our friend apart from our ten contacts."

"It was always a difficult proposition, eh? But if each gang can only rat themselves out, no one else was discovered. It was very secret."

"What the hell'd you do?"

"We did what we had to do."

"Descriptive..."

"But if you were so under the radar, then why were you targeted, ve?"

"That is the question. It was no one group, but all of them that were experiencing this disturbance. Several were killed. Britain lost ten, all of which I had never set eyes upon. My brother said Scotland lost four."

"Alberta lost six, but I don't know about anywhere else in Canada

"People kick the bucket in New York all the time. Any or none of those could have been the commies."

"... Racist git."

"What about your people here?"

"Lovi and me."

"Feliciano and I."

"Like, me and Toris."

"Victoire et moi."

"ENGLISH!"

"Lars and myself."

"The awesome me."

"And I," I say curtly, hearing Gilbert's voice echo from the other side of the room.

To my right sits Feliciano, quietly folding a paper crane out of a leaflet boldly proclaiming V.Z. National Bank's new reform policy to satisfy the costumer. One wing of the bird is a little bit deformed towards the edge, while the other is just too small to fit the body at all. Lately Feli's been clinging to both Ludwig and the new Japanese foreigner, Kiku, like glue.

To my left is Alfred, twitching profusely as he tries to remove the canvas sling from his arm without really removing it at all, getting the hairy eyeball from Arthur throughout the entire process. "What?" the American mutters out of the corner of his mouth, "It's really itchy!"

Arthur chooses to ignore this, instead directing his next question towards Vash. "Were any of you left untouched?"

"Do not let yourself think that we are that small, Kirkland," Vash grimaces. "However, in the upper partners, only one remains untouched. Or so we assume."

"So you assume?"

"He is currently on the move in Greece. We rarely hear reports. Our novices were untouched."

"It seems like they wanted your attention," Kiku says, hands neatly folded on the table top.

"I agree," I nod, leaning forward to see all of the assembled. "The man that attacked me-"

"Us," Gilbert drawls, carelessly spinning his chair in circles.

"-was not a particularly adept fighter. He was easily taken care of, and far from a threat. He was thrown off by elementary maneuvers."

"As was the man who attacked us. Victoire easily killed him. In fact," Francis purrs, sweeping his hair back from his face, "his gun had no bullets at all."

Vash raises an eyebrow at that. 'Was it the same for the rest of you?"

Ludwig just shrugs, "Car chase."

Gilbert grunts assent. "Burned him. Didn't check the gun."

"Did any of you check the gun?" A collection of denials fills the conference room, which slowly seems to constrict around us as Vash's eyes narrow. "What the hell do I pay you for?"

"For being awesome-"

"Shut up, Gilbert," Vash sighs, tapping his fingers against the table top.

"So what now?"

I glance up to Antonio. His eyes are troubled, and I move my gaze along the row to see similar expressions in all the faces of these colleagues of mine. Colleagues? Is that the right word? Perhaps not. Friends? I don't- Maybe. Either way, there have never been so many faces alight with such insecurity in our own territory before.

The novelty in the nature of such fear boils over into a curdling sensation in the pit of my stomach. Someone needs to kill this Braginski and put us out of our misery.

"Elizaveta?"

"Someone needs to go."

"Was?"

"Someone needs to go to the Braginski house."

Lovino narrows his eyes. "And how the fuck do you expect to achieve that? Should we just waltz up to the bastard's house and knock on his door? Sell some fucking cookies while we're at it?"

"I'm saying we need a double agent."

Alfred laughs. "Sweet! Like in the movies!"

I raise an eyebrow at the boisterous American and match every other expression in the room. "Ja..."

Gilbert rolls his eyes. "You're an idiot."

"Like you're one to talk!" I snort.

Gilbert rises from his seat, looking like the baited animal I want him to be. "Fuck ja-"

Ludwig's large hand falls heavily on Gilbert's shoulder, successfully pushing him back down. "Nein, Bruder. Save it."

Gilbert grumbles something intelligible.

"Save it, Bruder."

"Fine! Fucking bitch-"

I slam my hands onto the table, rise to my full height, and lean forward, creating a curtain of hair for Vash's disapproving eyes. "Sagst du das? Du dumme Scheiße," I hiss, low enough so that any other German speakers except the one directly in front of me can't hear.

"I sage auf dich was ich will, kleine Lizzie."

"Nem, ass hole." I slip back into my seat, aware of all the stares. Seamlessly, I slip to a different language, a more private one. "Ezt még nagyon megbánod."

"Nem."

I growl low. Gilbert just smirks.

"Are you two done?"

"Ja Vash. Whenever you want to continue with your truly moving speech, be my guest. I mean, just look at all the awesome accomplishments we've made in the last few hours," Gilbert drawls, kicking his legs up onto the table top, combat boots surely scraping all over the polish. "How many times have you repeated the same conversation? Vierzig? Is that a new record? Congrats, cousin. You manage to find more and more ways to creatively bore us."

"Get out, Gilbert."

The man in question gives a languid stretch, cracking both arms. "The awesome me is out. Peace." He hops to his feet and saunters by us, passing through my line of vision without so much as a glance. I hear him kick the door open, momentarily exposing us to the mundane world, before it angrily snaps shut behind him. Only when the lock clicks into place does Vash stand and address us once more.

"The rest of you better be able to grasp the severity of our situation, and if not, feel free to join Beilschmidt. Braginski is targeting us. We don't know why, and that makes his motives dangerous. We're either a threat, or we have something he wants. By the nature of these attacks, I'd say both. They only attacked us when we were unaware and alone. This can't continue, or we'll start to lose people. They have reason to even the score, if Gilbert really did finish one of theirs. Now, Eliza's idea may work..., but we'd need to come into contact with them somehow."

"Excuse me!" The door slams open. Immediately, everyone in the room tenses. I turn warily. The intruder's eyes are bright, their hair escaping from the red ribbons in their pig tails. I relax.

"Victoire?"

"Oui, oui, c'est moi! I have information that is imperative-"

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Francis tries to step in. "Vash, she is just leaving!"

The girl turns with exasperation. "Non, je ne suis pas! I am here with information you want, Vash!"

Vash's eyes narrow, calculating her ears and her mouth and their danger to our cause. He gives a nod.

Victoire breaths out in relief. I send a little smile of encouragement, and discreetly put both thumbs up. "Merci. Tonight, at 22:41, Kirkland's call was intercepted by an unknown source."

"Is this true?" Vash asks, turning to Francis.

"Oui."

"Continue."

"D'accord. Francis and I realized the line had been tapped, but we didn't know by who. I just tried to trace the call back, and it turned out the electronic waves became muddled-"

"That means nothing to us."

"Je sais. I realized, however, that the signal was on a bigger scale than just us. Whoever was working the other end was either really careless, or displeased. It muddled with a radio station nearby. I tracked the signal through there. We can reverse the signal and communicate back."

Francis gives a little whoop, and sweeps Victoire into a hug. She blushes happily.

Vash, on the other hand, betrays no emotion whatsoever. He simply nods, and gestures to the door. "Get to it, then."

"Of course." Victoire disentangles herself from Francis (a practiced feat) and slips from the room.

Vash waits once more until the door is securely locked. "Anything else of importance?"

Alfred sits up a little straighter. "I almost got shot by this super hot babe-"

Arthur lets out a loud groan, forcibly cutting off the undoubtedly stupid conclusion to that sentence. "Don't, you insufferable git."

"But there was this other guy there too! Thomas, or Tony, or something," Alfred cries. We all freeze.

"What was it?"

"Uh, Tony? Nah, maybe Tory? Something like that," he shrugs, waiting to see if this information is helpful.

Feliks, who had been almost entirely silent throughout, speaks up nervously, a quaver to his voice. "Could it have been 'Toris'?"

"Toris? Yeah, actually," Alfred nods slowly, obviously giving it a lot of thought. "Yeah!" He slams his fist down against the table. "It was definitely Toris, dudes."

I snap my gaze to Feliks, my heart pounding for him. He doesn't jump out of his chair for joy, nor does he throw a tantrum. He doesn't smile or cry, or show any emotion at all. He simply says, "I'll go. I'll go to Russia."

It's what I expected, deep down. I wanted one of the more emotional responses, one of the more immature responses, one of the safer responses, but I expected the right response all along.

And suddenly, my mind is on overdrive, analyzing, processing, deciding. I barely register the next drawn out ten minutes of discussion. When Vash finally gives his permission, and the others begin to file out, all I can do is grin at the fortune this spontaneous chaos brought because for the first time in a while, my next move is my prerogative alone.


::A/N:: Review~

Translations:
Victoire et moi (French) = Victoire and me
Was (German) = What
Sagst du das? Du dumme Scheiße! (German) = You say that? You stupid shit.
I sage auf dich was ich will, kleine Lizzie (German) = I say what I want about you, Little Lizzie
Ezt még nagyon megbánod (Hungarian) = You will regret this
Vierzig (German) = Forty
Oui, oui, c'est moi! (French) = Yes, yes, it's me!
Non, je ne suis pas, Francis! (French) = No, I am not, Francis!
Je sais (French) = I know.