HAPPY BIRTHDAY WOODBYNE! LEGAL AT LAST, SWEETHEART! May your day be filled with love, laughter, and be as wonderful as you are.

Dear Ichiman, who waited patiently for chapter 7, and told me not to rush chapter 8.

Did NO-ONE spot the continuity error I made with Feli's gun? The magically appearing Beretta? No? Well, it's gone now, so haha! Much love to: Kiko33, Tokkalover, Skullover, JustAmel, KajiMori, Cat'sdon'tcry, Stripes93, run-for-your-life-hikari, Seisakusha-sama, Tala, Oreocooky, ShadowDragonMistess (third-party reviews ftw!) and Woodbyne!

JustAmel is henceforth to be known as The Supreme Spanish Editor In Chief.

Dear readers, never use blunt scissors to cut your own hair, it hurts. On that note, it doesn't look too bad. I love cutting my own hair.

In case anyone missed the hints I've been dropping, Gilbert has a medical degree; "not even me and my mad MD skillz", "For all his brother's strangeness, he was a pretty good doctor".

They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, so I therefore imitate my dear friend, Tala: 100th reviewer gets a oneshot: anything they like. Yes/Yes?

"Mein Gott, Lutz!" Gilbert asked, utterly flabbergasted, as he gently prodded the swollen, bruised flesh of his little brother's arm, "you look like Violet effing Beauregard! What the fuck did you do?"

"I did my job; can't you just tell me what's wrong?" Ludwig sighed. This is why Gilbert was not actually employed as a doctor; he had the bedside manner of a carnivorous goat.

"Well I can't say for sure with an X-ray, but I think you have a fractured Ulna," he looked quizzically at the blonde, "someone hit you very hard with something very heavy, that's for sure. What was it?"

"A pitchfork."

The albino raised his brows before deciding that yes, his brother was indeed being serious, and falling about with laughter, "Looks like we found your kryptonite, Lutz!"

At the same time that this was happening, Feliciano was joyously eating his ice-cream while the tomatoes boiled down, and happily telling his brother about his new friend Alfred.

"Alfred?" Antonia asked; an expression of utter horror, "Alfred Jones? An American?"

"Si! He's great. Who knew Rocky Road was so good? I invited him and his friend Artie to your party." Feli chirped, licking dairy product from his fingers in a manner that, to Ludwig's rebellious mind, was shockingly alluring.

"Por Dios!" the Spanish woman yelled, tearing at her hair, "How can you be so stupid, Feli? He's an FBI agent! He's been on my tail for months! And now he's in Rome, knocking on my door! And he's coming to my engagement party! I didn't even know he knew who I was! ¿Qué voy a hacer? What am I going to do?"

"He could be looking into us," Feli said dreamily, dropping the spoon into the empty cup.

"Estupido! Why would he be looking into you?"Antonia raved, gesturing wildly.

"Well, we do have branches in New York," the younger Italian continued serenely.

"So does everybody else! I have branches in New York, the people who are after you have branches in New York, The only people who don't have branches in New York are the tribes of the Amazon Jungle, and that's because it's too far to commute! No puedes ser así de estupido." You can't really be that stupid.

"Mi dispiace, Antonia! I didn't know!"Feliciano shrugged, unrepentant. Alfred was a nice guy with decent taste in ice-cream. He wasn't going to un-invite the two men just because the party's hostess had a bit with his employer. That would be rude.

"Yo, Pasta-monkey!" Gilbert called, summoning Feliciano for duty, "I need you to drive the Beast to the hospital. Ask for a radiologist, get an x ray and then bring it and him straight back here. I don't want those quacks messing with my little brother."

"Can this wait, Gil?" Antonia sighed, "I'm not done yelling at him yet."

"No, it can't. I need to re-align his arm and brace it before it sets badly," the elder German gestured to the Coquelicot and deep Byzantium bruises on Ludwig's forearm.

"Ve~ Ludwig! I'm sorry! This is my fault!" Feliciano threw his arms around his bodyguard, "I should have known it was a trap! I'm sorry. You shouldn't get hurt protecting me."

Ludwig looked at the moderately sized man wrapped around his middle like an octopus on chopsticks. He had being trying to view Feliciano through paternal goggles, but he felt no fatherly emotions as he looked at the Italian. No pride, no anger, no disappointment. Only concern for his wellbeing and a twinge of happiness. But that happiness was always there, it was the joy of being congratulated on a job well-done. But he had felt it earlier, not paternally as he would have wanted, but a desire to protect this beautiful idiot from hurt and heartbreak. It ached in his chest that only a year and a half had passed and this smiling boy was carefully wiping all of the German's well-deserved sorrow away. Feliciano looked up, his eyes creased and half-closed in a glowing grin, his almost monochrome colouring muted in the early-evening light. Ludwig's jaw hardened and he looked away, why wouldn't this brat just leave him to be miserable in peace?

"It's my job, Herr Vargas," he said quietly, extricating himself from those ensnaring arms, and walking into the kitchen to fetch some more ice for his arm, leaving Feliciano with an answer that was not only dismissive, but deeply, niggling-ly unsatisfactory.

Gilbert's eyes narrowed. That tensing of Ludwig's jaw. He had seen it before. That in itself was worrisome. Because Ludwig was so closed about his emotions it was easy to miss the signs of a river running deep, but as his brother, Gilbert was well versed in the art of reading his little bother's face- and body-language. And the albino would be damned if he didn't know that face, he had seen it before and he didn't doubt that he would see it again. It was unfortunate; however, that dear Bruderlein Ludwig was making his I-have-feelings-for-you-but-I-can't-admit-it-to-myself-or-anyone-else face at Feliciano Vargas at such an unstable time, in such unstable circumstances and with what were bound to be catastrophic results. What the fucking hell was his straight, anal (the pun was probably intended) brother doing making I-don't-want-to-want-you eyes at his boss, anyway? What was the world coming to?

Shaking his head in bemused wonder at it all, Gilbert noted that Ludwig was back with ice. Feli smiled a little tightly, a two year old couldn't have missed the brush-off his bodyguard had given him, and pulled a set of keys from his pocket,

"Ve~ Beast," was there an emphasis on that nickname? It was hard to tell, "Let's go; we want to get to Salvator Mundi and back before your bone sets badly," was there mocking in that sing-song voice? Perhaps. Ludwig neither knew nor particularly cared –or so he told himself. Following as it was his duty to do, the German left the room in the wake of his diminutive Italian.

~====o)0(o====~

Francis lay on the desk in Antonia's office, his head in front of the keyboard, stopping Matthew from doing any actual work. Surprisingly enough, Antonia's landscaping company was more than a front; she actually did have a passion for topiary, gravel and water features. It was just that there was a thrill from trekking drugs over a boarder, and her talent with secateurs hadn't gone awry either. That kind of adrenaline couldn't be found in sourcing water-wise plants for environmentally minded clients. That was why she had Matthew, to help her organise both sides of the company, a young man who had been down on his luck and in need of a hit and some quick cash. Now he was three years clean and happily ensconced in a relationship; all Antonia's doing. And now the royal jerk-off who had driven him to drugs was not only back in his life, he was threatening to destroy everything he had worked so hard to have; a life, love.

The problem with Alfred and Matthew had been that Matthew; for all that he was an independent person, liked a little bit of attention, not much, mind, just enough so that he didn't feel utterly invisible. Alfred's personality was not conducive to that. Alfred was an attention magnet, an attention whore; you couldn't help but look at him. And everyone had forgotten about sweet, quiet Matthew. One day an old friend had offered him a hit of heroin and he hadn't looked back. Then Antonia and Francis had found him. Francis, who never forgot Mattie, who never hogged the spotlight, who went out of his way for his new ward. Francis whose azure blue eyes sedately waited for the Canadian to finish his train of thought and speak. The bespectacled man raised a hand and combed his finders through the Frenchman's thick blonde hair, gently tucking heavy locks behind his ear and out of his eyes. He rested his palm on Francis's cheek and the man leant his face into it.

"How is this going to end?" Matthew asked quietly, laying his head on his lover's chest so as to hear his heart. A sigh resonated in the younger's eardrum, and then it was Francis's fingers weaving themselves into the strands of his hair, curling it around his digits before smoothing it out.

"I don't know, chou, but I'm rather hoping that we aren't imprisoned."

"Mon amant," Matthew whispered into the Frenchman's favourite blue shirt, "mon Coeur, mon tout. My lover, my heart, my all." He would have added that jail might not be quite so bad with Francis at his side, but he knew better than to say something so desperately romantic when prison would be quite as bad with Francis at his side or without, the difference was that they would be together.

~====o)0(o====~

"Arse!" Arthur yelled, tripping mightily over that god-forsaken carpet again. He had spoken to the landlord about it, but so far northing was being done. Now that the groceries were spread liberally across the floor, he realised that he had forgotten to get leeks. Ah well, the soup would taste just as well without it. However, when he got to the kitchen, Alfred was already there, stirring corn flour into a roux.

"Lad, your enthusiasm is all well and good, but I believe it was my turn to cook," not that he particularly minded the American's cooking, it was actually quite good, but a little more variety would have been nice.

"Nope. I changed the roster," Alfred said cheerily, slowly adding milk to the mixture while working it with a wooden spoon.

"You can't just-" Arthur trailed off. Stuck where the old roster had once been was a printed calendar with "Alfred" printed under the title of "permanent cook".

"Look here, Captain America!" the Englishman yelled, "If you take issue with something here, then maybe you should tell me about it instead of changing everything around under my nose like your bastard military!"

Alfred's face went red. Not the faint blush of someone who had been caught singing, but the colour of a man about to have an aneurism, "You may insult me, but do not insult my country," despite his face, his voice was soft, much more so than it was normally; he was a whisperer. Arthur faltered slightly, he wasn't used to arguments with people who didn't scream, but he persevered.

"I'll insult whomever I bloody well wish! You've come into my investigation and buggered the whole thing sideways!"

"And how exactly have I done that?" Alfred was sounding scarily reasonable.

"You've turned a perfectly decent routine upside down, you've probably made them all nervous and they'll suspect you! They won't say a damn thing at that party, so you might as well not go!"

There was a pause; it was a valid point, but before the American could reach any conclusion the Englishman continued,

"Actually, do go! Get the fuck out of Italy! You're not doing any good here, and I certainly neither need nor want you."

The last part was a lie, he was actually growing fond of Alfred and his brash ways, but words said in anger, though they bear truth, are seldom as serious at the speaker would have you believe.

With all the colour in his face drained, Alfred turned wordlessly and walked steadily to his room, and the door clicked shut. Arthur blinked. This called for alcohol.

~====o)0(o====~

Natalya carefully checked Katyusha for injuries, partially to check for anything amiss, but mostly for the gratification of feeling her skin sliding beneath her hands.

Rolling over, the Ukrainian did the same, gently skimming the palms of her hands over the Belarusian's flesh as a stone over water. Satisfied that they were both in one piece, Katyusha smiled, and an answering twitch was pulled from Natalya's lips. The younger woman pulled a ribbon from the bedside table and used it to push her long hair back from her face, tying a neat bow at the top. Reaching out thin fingers, she touched partner's cheek with fingertips and slightly pointed nails.

Next time, she promised silently, we will kill them next time.

~====o)0(o====~

(Timeskip of three days)

Friday evening was balmy and clear, and true to the old Sheppard's rhyme, the bloody sky promised a warm night ahead. Feliciano was bundled with Gilbert and Elizaveta while Antonia dragged a protesting Lovino ("What am I even paying him for, Antonia?") off to get him dressed. Feli had given Ludwig the afternoon off to relax and get ready for the party; he had taken the German's protestations of being worn out to heart and decided to treat him accordingly.

Waiting impatiently and eagerly for his bodyguard's arrival, Feliciano let his eyes sweep the room in case there was anyone here he hadn't slept with. Beast could deal with it, couldn't he? Really. If he was so sexually frustrated as to complain about someone else getting some, then it was hardly the Italian's fault for having a healthy sex life, now was it?

There, a motorcycle roared into the parking lot of the large pavilion that the happy couple had rented. It was a large machine, befitting to its rider, and it guttered to a halt just on the edge of the steps. The mysterious man swung a long leg over the bike, legs that Feliciano would readily and happily admit that he would certainly enjoy being between. He didn't even know what the man's face looked like and he could tell that to share his bed was his only goal this evening. There was no alternative; he wanted those hips to grind him mercilessly into the nearest available flat surface. Or the motorbike; that sounded like fun, too.

Those same legs were clothed in khaki cargo pants and tough-looking black boots. The rider shrugged off a blazer-cut leather jacket to reveal a muscle t-shirt so incredibly revealing that it could only have been black spray-paint on bare skin. Feli could see muscle and sinew rippling as he walked. The mirrored helmet was removed and pale blonde hair that had no right to look quite as wind-blown as it did. A large, pale hand was raked through that hair in an attempt to neaten it, only succeeding in mussing it further. The entire ensemble would have shrieked badass, were it not far too bad ass to do so.

That fine-boned nose, those diamond-cut cheekbones, that slightly narrow cupid's bow mouth that was naturally just a little too red for the rest of his face. Feliciano felt his mind grind to a halt. It obviously wasn't working properly. That wasn't possible, it could not be.

The man looked to him and made a bee-line in his direction. No, there had to be some kind of twisted misunderstanding. He must think that Feliciano was someone else, and Feliciano must be mistaking him for someone who wasn't who he thought he was. Though it seemed that his eyes were in fact not lying to him and the bewildered Italian managed to bleat out a single word that summed up all his confusion;

"Ludwig?"

PLEASE READ THIS:

So once again, a happy, happy you're-legal-that-takes-all-the-fun-out-of-it-doesn't-it? To my dearest Woodbyne, without whom none of you would be reading this, please wish her a happy birthday ^_^. I'll be joining her in 20 days time.
Does anyone else think I should bump up the rating? Because this is technically a yaoi story, even if it hasn't gotten there yet.

The last chapter title was Miss Kiss Kiss Bang, after the Eurovision (fuck yeah!) song of the same name by Alex Swings Oscar Sings. This chapter is called Help I'm Alive after the song by Metric, and I thought it went with Feli's confusion and the fluffeh Franada moment.
Also, the 100
th reviewer offer is go, so if you want to read something specific, then sign in and leave a review (I can't ask you what you want if you aren't signed in).
Sorry it's sorter than usual, but I hauled ass to get this out for her birthday ^_^ The next chapter will be longer, I hope.
Advance thankies to reviewers

~RutheLa