So much feels.
Ottawa, Canada
Matthew Williams stepped outside as work finally ended for the day. The sun was merely a circle of glowing light in the fiery sky. His boss, Mr. Stephen Harper, told him to go home early.
Kumasaki was dragging him to the ice-cream parlour. The bear ate nearly everything, except things that were clearly not edible—like arsenic. Or maybe . . .
"Kuma, why don't we go home and I'll make you something?" said Matthew. "I'm really tired."
The polar bear cast a doubtful look in his direction. "Ice-cream."
"I'm serious, Kumasushi! I don't feel very well today, like something is coming . . . I've got this strange feeling in my gut that tells me—"
Just then, France flew out of nowhere and tackled Matthew into a hug.
Oh, he thought. Must have been Papa. Maybe it's just my imagination?
"Papa, what are you doing here?"
Francis rubbed his cheek against Matthew's affectionately. "Well, ever since Angleterre returned to London, he's been all moody and snappy. He told me to 'get the fuck out of his backyard', can you believe that?! And so, I decided to fly over to visit my favourite fils!"
Matthew's face wasn't amused. "Is that the only reason?"
"But of course!"
"Can you let go of me now? It's getting hot."
Francis stepped back as Matthew shrugged off his blazer. He noticed how irritated the young Canadian seemed, more so than usual. It couldn't have been the hot weather alone that was causing this change in attitude.
"So, Mathieu. How has Québec been doing? He's not causing you too much trouble, is he?"
"No, he's been fine. Still protesting, but that's how he usually is, I suppose."
"Then I have taught him well!"
Matthew didn't laugh, which was something he usually did when Francis attempted to lighten the mood or tell a joke. There was seriously something wrong with Matthew here.
"Papa." Canada's eyes had a dark lilt to them. "Why are you really here?"
That caught him off guard. France relinquished his flippant attitude and wiped his face wearily. "It's difficult to explain, Mathieu. I nearly lost you once, I'm not going to lose you again. I simply want to be here to protect you."
"Is this about the Traité de Paris?"
"No, it's nothing like that. Back there, at the hotel, you almost died. I could never live with myself if that came true. 1763 was no different. It was difficult to give you up to Angleterre, but it was all I could do to preserve your identity, or else another war would escalate, and you could really die the second time."
"Let's not think about that, Papa. We've got a job to do now, don't we?"
France smiled. "Yes, we do. I'm glad you understand."
Kumajirou tugged impatiently on Matthew's pant leg. "Ice-cream!"
Matthew laughed. "All right, all right. We'll get you the ice-cream."
At the ice-cream parlour, the ice-cream man graciously served the frozen dessert to Kumajirou. It had been some years since he'd worked here, and the idea of a polar bear eating ice-cream became second nature to him. The man, Matthew Williams, was a strange fellow, but after a while of watching the polar bear stroll into the Parliament Building with him, it became a regular sight.
The same couldn't be said for the tourists. They stood by and took many pictures. Kumajirou gladly posed for them. Matthew ran inside quickly before his face could be seen. Not that anybody would care to notice him.
Matthew was just about to hand the ice-cream man the payment when his phone rang. He looked at the caller ID: Alfred F. Jones THE HERO
"Uh . . ."
"It's all right," said Francis, drawing out his wallet. "I'll pay."
Matthew stepped to the side and pressed the cell to his ear: "Hello, Alfred? Why are you calling me? Shouldn't you be at work?"
There was only static at the end.
"Hello? Alfred, are you there?" Matthew grew impatient. "Look, Al, if this is another one of your prank calls, I'm telling you—it's not going to work. I have caller ID, remember?"
". . . Ma—Mattie! Don't—"
"Alfred? What is it? I can't hear you; speak up!"
"N-no! Please! Not him . . ."
Matthew's heart jumped in his throat. That voice . . . was not his brother. The Alfred he knew didn't sound like that. The Alfred he knew spoke loudly, obnoxiously and proudly. The United States of America would never be caught in the act of—
"Alfred!" Matthew hissed. "Alfred, tell me what's going on! Tell me why you're . . ."
Sobbing. America was crying.
Matthew pressed the receiver closer to his ear. Again, there was static. He sank down in a park bench, awaiting the next group of words, his blood pounding in his ears.
Shut up, heart. I can't hear if you being so loud!
The phone crackled.
"P-please, no. Don't . . . don't make me d-do this. Not to him. N-not to my brother!"
A garble of alien voices followed.
"I WON'T!"
Ah. That sounded a lot like his old self: defiant, rebellious. Matthew shifted to the edge of the bench seat. He dared to speak.
"Alfred?" he said. "Alfred, speak to me. Tell me what's going on. What's happening to you?"
There was a bone-chilling crack. Then a scream. Matthew jumped a foot in the air. A faint throbbing emanated from his lower abdomen.
Alfred's voice shook: "M-Mattie . . . listen to m-me. There's a flight at 8:15 to New York City. T-take that plane. A-also—" He choked up. "No . . . I'm not listening to you. There's n-no way I'm— Mattie's my brother! I-I'm not listening to you bastards!"
His shout of defiance was followed by a bang. Matthew shut his eyes as Alfred screamed again.
"S-stop it, Al!" he pleaded, clutching at his side painfully. "Stop it! Whoever they are, just listen to them! Don't make yourself go through this . . ."
There wasn't an answer, only silence. Francis came over with Kumajirou sitting on his shoulders, wondering what all the commotion was. Matthew was about to tell him, and then Alfred's pained voice drowned out his words.
"Mattie?"
Matthew gripped his knee. "Al, what is it?"
"Come alone."
He wanted nothing more than to sink into his own little world and appear invisible to everyone else. For once, he wanted to be ignored. He wanted to seem like nothing.
Just so he could cease this stupid feeling.
France set Kumajirou down and laid a hand on Matthew's shoulder. "Maybe it's another prank call. How can you be sure that it's—?"
"I don't know!" Matthew snapped. "I don't . . . I don't know, okay? Alfred never sounds like that. But it's him. I know it is!"
"Okay. Say that it is him. What are you going to do?"
"I have to comply with the wishes of whoever is holding him, or else they'll hurt him again. What other choice do I have? They're torturing him, Papa. I can feel it. It needs to stop, or Al will—" Or he will die. "I have to go alone, do you understand that?"
Francis shook his head. "No. No, Mathieu. You can't. Not alone. I'm coming with you."
Matthew shot up from the bench. "Absolutely not! Whatever's happening with Alfred—I can't let it happen to anyone else, especially you. You mustn't, Francis! If they take you, and hold you hostage—"
Francis grabbed Matthew and shook his shoulders. "Calm down! You don't know what they want yet. Let's just think through this calmly, oui?"
"I don't have time," insisted Matthew, hoping Francis would understand. "The plane leaves at 8:15."
"Why the airport plane? Why not your private jet? Mathieu, don't you think this is all a bit too strange? Think about this. If it really was your brother—"
"It is!" Matthew all but shouted. "It's him! I can't explain it, but it's Alfred!"
He turned away from Francis, hoping the Frenchman couldn't see his expression. The last thing Alfred said to him before he hung up . . .
"Mattie, please help me."
And Matthew had gripped the phone so hard, he nearly crushed it. Alfred's tone stated finality, but he, Matthew, didn't want to hang up. He needed to keep Alfred talking. He feared that if the call ended, so would Alfred's life.
"I will. Wait for me."
"I'm going," declared Matthew. "End of discussion."
Kumajirou glanced at Francis and then dashed right after his owner. A silent plea flitted in the polar bear's beady eyes; Francis knew what he had to do.
The wait to board the plane was killing him. The whole time Matthew felt like he was being watched.
This is probably why they told you take a public plane, he thought, his eyes darting around rapidly. They want to make sure you're coming. They want to make sure you're obedient and came alone. I guess my feeling earlier hadn't been my imagination.
"You probably don't count as a person, right, Kuma?" he said to his polar bear.
Kumajirou growled.
Canada smiled, despite what was happening at the present moment. "Thanks, Kuma. I'm glad I have you with me."
A voice echoed through the building. The 8:15 flight to NYC was boarding passengers. Matthew stood from his chair and headed over to the counter to get his ticket stamped.
In the loading tunnel, he shivered involuntarily and glanced out the window. He swore he saw a pale figure dart under the plane wing. Was that just his imagination again?
This was getting really, really creepy. He was starting to get an idea of what was holding Alfred hostage.
They're back.
Matthew swallowed the lump in his throat and headed into the plane to take his seat. The plane was only half full, so he drew out his phone, trying to see if calling Alfred again would do any good.
No good. He wasn't answering. There was a blank dial tone in the place of Alfred's boisterous voice.
After take-off and during high-altitude travel, Matthew got the all-clear to leave his seat. He headed to the bathroom. It was small, cramped, but at least the mirror gave him a vague idea of his mental state.
I'm not losing Alfred. I can lose my identity and my country. But not Alfred.
His phone rang. He jumped and banged his elbow against the bathroom door. A passenger on the outside screamed at him to quiet down in there.
Matthew stared at the phone screen.
"Alfred?" he spoke tentatively. "Alfred, are you all right?"
Heavy panting responded.
"I've . . . m-managed to get away, but they'll f-find me again. Mattie, l-listen, okay? M-Mattie, you need to get away. F-forget about me. You need to run."
"What are you talking about, Alfred?" he replied desperately. "I can't leave you all alone there."
"You don't understand!" America shouted. Then he lowered his voice again. "It's not me they want. W-what they really c-came here for. The Frost Men w-want to destroy . . ." A pause. "I can hear them. Listen, Mattie, they want you—"
Alfred's voice cut off as a crash sounded in the background. Next he spoke, his words sounded far away:
"They're here. Mattie, I'm t-telling you: don't come here. Whatever they're making me say, ignore it. It's all a part of their plan." Alfred laughed shakily. "Consider this a last request from the Hero. Mattie, promise me something."
Matthew wiped at his eyes. "Wh-what is it?"
"When this is all over, remember me."
The call ended. Matthew knew that if the line continued, he would have heard Alfred's scream again. He was glad he didn't.
The Canadian lowered the phone to the sink and hung his head. How strange . . . hearing Alfred say words reserved for him. He, Matthew, was the one constantly forgotten and here Alfred was afraid of being forgotten? Crazy idiot.
Why did this have to happen? Why to Alfred? Alfred wasn't even a legitimate target. Sure he killed all those Frost Men via sniping, but there was no accurate way to pinpoint the killer if the victim had no time to broadcast who did it.
And what did the Frost Men want to destroy? Destroy what?
He couldn't run. Not when he'd come this far.
I'm sorry, Alfred. I can't fulfill your wish this time.
It was a short flight to New York. The plane was already descending. The pilot instructed all passengers to return to their seats and click in their seat belts. Matthew left the bathroom, avoiding elbows and running children. The skyline of NYC greeted him.
He hated it.
Thanks for reading! Let's hope Canada gets to America in time...
All right, I can only ever write an airport scene this time because I've actually been to a Canadian airport, so I know what it's like. Because I live here.
On a happier note, HAPPY NEW YEAR! :D
Chapter 10 - milestone chapter! Thanks to all those who favourited, reviewed and read this story. Let's hope we keep going for ten more and maybe another ten! Here's to another year. Cheers~