Chapter 9

~o~

Alfred, this may be a little awkward, but I need some advice.

Oh hey, Art! Long time no talk. Wassup?

You were married once, correct?

Ah... that's a little complicated. Let's just say yes. Why?

Your wife, was she very pretty?

Gorgeous. Smart, funny, beautiful eyes. Again, why?

I want to know how to keep people from looking at your son.

OH! Ok, jeez. I thought you were going to propose or something.

No. Not yet.

Anyway, about the looks.

Not yet?! What does that mean?!

Also, you're right. This is super awkward.

Clearly, this was a mistake.

And what looks?

Will you just wait until I'm done typing!?

~o~

Arthur couldn't get used to Alfred's constantly changing body. First, he was sure that Alfred would turn into a porker with his insatiable appetite. However, since that trip to Vlad's the boy seemed to reverse direction. His body thickened in different ways, gaining muscle along his arms and legs, his torso gaining definition, his shoulders growing more broad. It was just a little unnerving to suddenly find himself bedding someone who could easily pass as a male model (and was getting just as cocky to boot). The barmy thing was that Alfred still ate like a pig. It was maddening.

"Alfred, please tell me you haven't been taking steroids," the author spoke, his voice breaking into a moan as Alfred pressed him down into the mattress.

"Jeez, Arthur, you're never gonna let that drug thing go, are you?" Alfred griped.

A hiss escaped Arthur when he felt his chest suddenly exposed to cool air as Alfred sent his buttons scattering. "That was my favourite-!" Alfred shut him up with a hard kiss, silencing any more protest. The writer's slender fingers slid over his partner's waist, squeezing the pervasive bit of fluff that still clung to Alfred's frame. He grinned against Alfred's lips as the boy let out a faint whine of complaint. "Revenge," he purred.

"Meanie," Alfred pouted, his strong hands running up and behind Arthur's sides, wrenching the Brit up closer against him.

"Someone needs to take you down a peg," Arthur hummed, nipping the skin along his lover's jaw. "The way everyone looks at you, your big head will explode." His own motions grew rougher, more possessive, remembering with tinted green memory how his sweet boy was suddenly getting so many lecherous looks.

"A jealous meanie, too," Alfred added with a knowing glint to his eye. He smiled fondly and leaned down to press a soft, chaste kiss to Arthur's lips. His blue eyes glowed with bright affection as he gently stroked Arthur's cheek. "You don't ever need to be jealous..." he spoke softly. "I promise..."

"I know..." Arthur murmured in response. Then he spun Alfred up off of him, tossing him back into the mattress as he straddled the boy's hips. Alfred's eyes widened and just then he looked so much like the little landlord he'd come to adore. His lips pulled into a sharp smile. "But don't begrudge me marking my territory..."

~o~

It was about three in the afternoon when the house phone shrilled for attention.

"Alfred, you get it!" Arthur hollered down the attic stairs. His muse couldn't be interrupted right now as he was in the middle of pounding out a grisly, suspenseful scene between Anton and Doctor Yury Vinchenkov. (He would always be Doktor Vlad in Arthur's mind.)

His boyfriend made some complaining noise, but soon the phone stopped ringing and disturbing Arthur's peace. However, after a moment, he could hear Alfred's footsteps pounding up the stairs instead. "Arthur!" Alfred cried out, holding out the phone. His face was pale, full of trepidation. "It's the police. They want to talk to you."

A dark feeling of dread pooled in Arthur's stomach at the look in his lover's eye. "Give it to me," he said and was handed the phone. "Hello?"

*Good afternoon. Is this Arthur Kirkland?*

"Speaking," Arthur replied, the dread now crawling over his shoulders underneath his skin.

*Sir, I regret to inform you that we believe that Francis Bonnefoy was found dead in his apartment this morning.*

Those words sucked all the air right out of Arthur's lungs. A sort of numb denial settled over his mind. This was something straight out of his novels. He was imagining this. This wasn't real. It couldn't be real.

The voice continued. *We would appreciate it if you could come down to the station to look at the body. We're in the 5th Precinct. If you could come today, the better.*

"Right..." Arthur spoke softly. "I'll be there..." He shut off the phone and stared at his screen. The victims of the grisly shooting seemed to stare back at him in accusation, blaming him for having such a sick mind.

"Arthur...?" Alfred called out, his voice shaking the author back to reality. "Arthur, what was that about?"

"I need to go," the author replied, pushing himself back from the desk. He left the house without another word, even to his lover.

Arthur arrived at the police station an hour later. The place was not unlike a scene out of one of his books, uniforms bustling two and fro while phones rang off the hook, officers complaining about the coffee machine as they worked off of ancient computers. He'd been taken in by the bobbys back home more than once for drunk and disorderly conduct. (And maybe a few instances of joyriding. But how else could he learn to drive without a car?)

Francis had been his partner in crime on more than one occasion...

Swallowing hard, he came up to the desk officer and was told to wait for the captain to come get him. There was a hard plastic chair in the hall, so he sat down and tried his best not to throw up. This all had to be a misunderstanding. Surely, Francis would not have put himself into any danger. The man was far too much of a priss. It was a mistake.

The minutes ticked by like hours, as the author was stuck with nothing but his own whirling thoughts. When someone stood in front of him, he was jolted out of them like an electric shock. "Mr. Arthur Kirkland?" A hand stuck out in front of his face. "Thank you for coming in. We appreciate you taking the time."

"Of course," Arthur replied, his own voice sounding strange in his throat. "H-have you contacted Francis' family yet?"

"Not yet," the Captain replied. He was a tall man with sharp Germanic features, blond hair slicked back with gel, making his steel blue eyes the center focus of his face. "We wanted you to do an initial identify the body before we contacted them in France. No use in having them fly out for no reason." He gestured over towards a hallway. "Please come this way."

A moment later, he was staring at the veiled body behind a glass plane. A swallow and a nod, then the sheet was pulled up and away. Immediately, the author felt as though the ground was kicked out from underneath his feet.

The face may have been sickly gray and the eyes sunken, but those cheekbones, that nose, that chin...

"It's him," Arthur whispered. "That's Francis Bonnefoy." The sheet immediately went back over the corpse's, Francis', face. After that, Arthur was only dimly aware that he was being led away and brought over to one of the private rooms. Something warm was placed in his hand. Coffee.

He hated coffee. Stupid thing to think when his friend was dead. He should be doing something. Throwing a fit. Crying. Something. Not being picky over a stupid drink. Yet somehow this little slight made him irrationally angry. He tossed it into the garbage, ignoring the surprised looks from the officers around him. However, they didn't say a word as they went straight into questioning him.

How well did you know Francis Bonnefoy? We were friends since boarding school.

Were you two ever involved? Yes, casually before I met my boyfriend.

Do you know who Francis Bonnefoy might have been seeing? I do not. He sees many people.

Do you need a minute? We can do this later. No, I'm fine.

Where were you the night before last? At home.

Can anyone verify that? My boyfriend.

When was the last time you saw Francis Bonnefoy? Two weeks ago at a party. He was hanging onto some girl. Michelle, I think her name was.

Did you ever sleep with Francis while involved with your boyfriend?

"Now see here!" Arthur finally snapped, anger burning him up like a match to gunpowder. "I don't care for what you're implying! I was not cheating on my boyfriend and I did not have anything to do with my friend's murder! Now tell me exactly how he died!"

"I'm sorry sir, but this is an ongoing investigation," the Captain replied calmly.

"Oh bollocks, you know any reporter with a modicum of talent will leak the details in the next paper!" Arthur snapped. "And believe me, you do not want me making a fuss to the reporters."

The Captain's jaw clenched tightly. Yet he somehow saw the light as he replied tersely, "Francis Bonnefoy was found this morning mauled in his apartment. We don't know what did it. The coroner is pointing to some sort of wild animal. Now, sir, that is all that I will be telling you. I suggest that you stay in the area while the investigation is ongoing."

Arthur had the feeling that meant he was a suspect, which was absolutely ludicrous. "Fine," he replied, holding his chin up high. "I'm not going anywhere. I want Francis' killer to be found, in case that ever came into question."

The Captain studied him for a long moment and then gave the author a faint nod. "Of course," he replied, then reached into his pocket to hand the author his card. "Should you come up with anything else, here's my line. Give me a call anytime."

"Thank you," Arthur replied, glancing only briefly at the name CAPTAIN D. LUDWIG. He didn't say any more before turning on his heel and departing before he did something he regretted. He couldn't rightly remember how he got home, his mind whirling with shock and anger. He slammed the door on the way back into the house, immediately drawing Alfred's attention from down below in the basement.

"Arthur? Babe, what's wrong?" Alfred called up, worry etched all over his face as he came into the living room. "What did the police want?"

His lover's concern was almost too much to bear. It was too much to bear. Some desperate, choked noise escaped Arthur's throat, his eyes growing hot. The reality finally set in, pushing past the surrealism of hours past. "Francis..." he hiccuped, shaking his head as he trembled. "He's..."

Sensing what was wrong, Alfred came to him immediately and brought him over to the couch. He didn't push as he listened to Arthur's mangled sobs, his arms wrapped protectively around him. "I'm sorry..." he whispered into Arthur's hair long until the author felt dizzy with lack of sleep. "I'm so sorry..."

~o~

When the police next called, Alfred wouldn't let them go anywhere near Arthur.

Arthur woke up from his afternoon nap to nurse his morning headache, only to hear his lover screaming into the phone. "You assholes stay away from him! He didn't kill his own best friend, you insane shits! You don't have anything on him and he doesn't have to answer any of your questions!" he heard Alfred roar from the kitchen. "You want to get anymore out of him, you talk to his lawyer!" With that, the wall damn near cracked when Alfred slammed the phone back on its handle.

Arthur stared wide-eyed at Alfred when the other man stalked back into the living room. "A-Alfred, what on earth was that about?" he demanded as he pushed himself up to a sit.

Alfred snapped his gaze over to him and a sharp chill crawled down Arthur's spine when he saw the inhuman anger painted across the boy's features. However, they quickly smoothed out upon settling on the author, turning somewhat sheepish. "Sorry," he murmured, settling down on the couch to curl up next to his lover. "Um... Arthur, you have a lawyer right...?"

"Yes~" Arthur replied kindly, relaxing when he saw Alfred return to himself. "That was a good call. I will call him soon to let him know what's happening." Smiling, he pressed a kiss to his lover's brow. "My hero..."

The blushing smile that spread over Alfred's face was most gratifying.

~o~

Dusk. Strange smells and noises began to rise from the ground. Neon lights buzzed and flickered overhead, fighting with the dying orange glow. The cries of feral dogs howled through the canyons of concrete, stone and glass, chilling the blood of any lonely passersby.

"A-A-A-Arthur w-what was that?" Alfred stuttered, his fearful eyes whipping around to look at their darkening surroundings.

A sigh. "Just dogs, love," his boyfriend replied, holding Alfred's hand on way the back from the movies. A horror movie. It sounded like a great idea at the time. Arthur's head hadn't been in a good place since finding out about Francis, so Alfred thought that taking him out might do the trick.

However, now with his paranoia of the dark only heightened, the vampire trembled like a leaf as his eyes followed the red sun setting on the horizon. Something cold creeped up his neck, the inescapable feeling that they were being followed unable to leave him. He squeezed Arthur's hand harder, making the human wince. "Alfred," Arthur scolded sharply, "I cannot hold your hand if you break my fingers! Honestly, I haven't the foggiest idea why you insisted on going to see that film!"

Sheepish, Alfred eased his grip. "Sorry..." he mumbled, though his eyes still darted nervously about them. When he heard glass crash, he seized up again. "A-Arthur, I think that came from close by!"

"Probably a drunk." Nonetheless, Arthur did take a look around them as well, his brow knitting into a frown. He nodded over to a thin alleyway. "Let's cut through there. We'll get to the station more quickly.

"Are you nuts?!" Alfred gasped in a dramatic stage-whisper. "Dude, that's like the number one rule of any horror movie! Don't go into any alleyways!"

"I thought it was don't go into any haunted buildings," the author replied, heading in that direction anyway despite Alfred's whine of protest. "Besides, we're not in a horror movie."

"Coulda fooled me," the vampire muttered darkly under his breath. He stepped quickly after Arthur, ready to defend them from any would-be threats. The sky darkened further as they strode through the shadowed alleyway, huddling close together. Despite his bravado, Alfred could hear Arthur's heart quicken just a beat. He was nervous too.

Something crunched behind them, like footsteps. Both of them whirled back, but found nothing in the shadows. Arthur's heart was beating much faster now. Alfred would have crowed about being right, but his own nerves were hammering. "Quickly now," Arthur said softly and the pair of them rushed towards the exit.

A hulking mass suddenly appeared in front of them, the black silhouette blocking their path. Alfred had a head start and crashed headfirst, falling back onto his ass. He scrabbled up to his feet, defenses rising as his eyes and teeth grew sharp, holding an arm to keep Arthur behind him. "Stop now!" he hissed at the silhouette.

The dark mass, unaffected by the crash, slowly stepped forward. A bit of pink fluttered into the light.

Immediately, Alfred's sharp features fell away as he recognized their would-be assailant. "Jesus fucking Christ," he swore, relaxing as he folded his arms over his chest. He glanced over his shoulder at his boyfriend. "It's only Ivan."

Arthur was still white, his eyes staring past the vampire. "Alfred!"

Alfred whipped around, only to narrowly miss being slammed in the face with a pipe. He jumped back, panting sharply as he stared at the Russian. The man's eyes were like ice, staring at him with an anger that the vampire had never seen before. His rusted pipe, no- faucet, gripped tightly in his huge hand. He lunged forward, slashing the space Alfred occupied with his weapon.

Another narrow miss. "Ivan... Ivan, what the hell!" Alfred cried out, scrabbling to find something to defend himself. Were he by himself, he would vamp in a flash. Even then, he didn't even know if it was enough. He managed to find a trash can lid, using it as a shield to deflect the Russian's blows. It crumpled as if it were nothing, metal squealing as the pipe tore through it like paper. The pipe connected with his forehead, pain blooming and bursting as though his brain had dislodged. Alfred fell to the ground, managing to soften the fall with his arm. He scarcely had a chance to recover, when a foot crunched on top of his bangled arm.

"So, you zink you valk in sun?" Ivan spoke softly, twisting his foot on top of Alfred's arm to make the vampire cry out in pain. "You vill take this evil zing off. Now." Alfred hissed at him, his eyes growing sharp as his natural defenses rose up again. "Little fool..." the Russian spat, reaching down towards the bracelet.

"Get off him!"

Ivan looked up, his fingers inches away from the bracelet. Alfred craned his neck back, to see Arthur holding out something in both hands. The Russian smirked at him. "Silly, silly child..." he chuckled, pulling himself up to a stand.

Alfred knew that if Ivan got back up, Arthur was done for. He screamed in fury, wrenching the pink scarf hanging loosely from Ivan's neck and pulled with all his strength. Ivan gasped, turning purple as the vampire choked him with his own scarf.

Two shots rang out.

Alfred cried out as Ivan's huge body suddenly collapsed on top of him. The smell of fresh blood spiked the air. It smelled wrong. The vampire gasped for breath as the smell suffocated him like toxic fumes. The world swam in and out of his vision and he was only vaguely aware that Ivan's body was pulled off of him. Arthur tugged him out the rest of the way, wrapping his shivering arms tightly around Alfred's body. "A-Alfred. Alfred, get up. Are you alright?"

"Ngh..." the vampire moaned, trying to get his lungs back in order. He looked blearily down at the sidearm on the grungy alley floor. "Where... Why do you have a gun...?" Alfred whispered.

"My friend just died and a crazy Russian mobster has been stalking us for months," Arthur said with a shaky laugh. "Why wouldn't I get a gun?" He grunted softly, pulling Alfred further away from Ivan's prone form. The further Alfred got from it, the easier it was to breathe. "Come on, Alfred. We... we need to..." The Brit looked around the scene, suddenly lost. "Shite, I have no idea what to do..."

"No police," Alfred whispered, pushing himself up onto his elbows.

"What?" Arthur said, his head snapping over to his boyfriend. "Are you joking?! We have to call the police!"

Swallowing thickly, Alfred shook his head. He could never get caught up with them. It was too risky. His eyes swept over to Ivan's bleeding body. Trembling, he pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. "Arthur, he's dead. You're a famous author. This can't fall on you. Not to mention they think you're connected to Francis! W-we have to leave him. This neighborhood's kind of rough. Nobody will care about him. Th-then we need to dump the gun in the river."

"Yes, I know how to do this!" Arthur hissed back. "I've written about it more times than I can count! I know how to clean a bloody crime scene." Luckily, Alfred was too shaken or else he would have laughed in the author's face. Arthur continued, oblivious, "I also know that this sort of thing always comes out! And why shouldn't it! I was defending you!"

Alfred's heart thundered, his fingers tightly grasping Alfred's arm. No. He couldn't lose Arthur. He couldn't lose this.

"Arthur," the vampire whispered, turning his cat-slit eyes up to meet his lover's. "Please. Let's just go," he spoke, heart breaking as he watched Arthur's eyes grow dull and unfocused. "Don't tell the police. Don't tell anyone. Please..." He released the author, leaving the damage done.

The Brit slowly blinked, shaking his head, before he came back to himself, or a version of. He cast but one look at the grisly scene. His eyes looked the vampire's bloody clothes up and down. "Stay here," he said, tucking the gun back into his jacket. Alfred sat on the dirty ground as he recovered. After five minutes, he wondered if the Brit would come back. Those instructions were a bit vague.

However, Arthur did return and he brought a change of clothes with him in a generic plastic bag. They smelled like a hundreds of people touched them. Thrift store. "Change into these." Alfred did so and then passed the bloody clothes back to the author. "You didn't bleed, right?" Alfred shook his head, then watched Arthur combed through the scene and Ivan's person like a forensic specialist looking for any sign of their presence. He even took care to dig the bloody bullets out of Ivan's body, causing a fresh wave of nausea as more wrong-smelling blood was spilled.

...Okay, maybe he was a little impressed. Even through the haze of self-loathing.

Everything was wrapped back up into the plastic bag and Arthur bade Alfred follow him. The vampire gave one last glance back to Ivan's still form. Then they fled.