CHAPTER 10

A/N – Hello everyone! Looks like this time I was able to update in less than a month… some progress there. I really find it hard to cope with this problem of starting a million stories and then having trouble updating them and stuff. And on top of everything I keep getting other and other ideas and plot bunnies jumping around, it's crazy. Anyway, this story is thankfully drawing to an end and I've managed to plan things so that they make sense and stuff, I am rather pleased (at any rate relieved) with the result. So enjoy the new chapter and brace yourselves for the upcoming drama!

She was both hopeful and fearful in the same time, but she was getting used to anxiety and always being on edge as of late, Elizaveta thought. Pale fingers wrapped the scarf tighter around the brunette's neck as she stepped out of the car and slammed the door shut, looking up at the tall, grey building of the hospital. It had somewhat of a sinister air. The Hungarian stuffed her hands in her pockets, shrugging inside the woolen coat and trying to keep off the cold. Why was she hesitating? At first the detective had thought she was bringing good news, only to realize at a closer inspection that as far as the Vargas boy was concerned, there were hardly good news. His grandfather was still dead and the sight of her would probably stress him out further, even if she only wanted to let him know that he would be safe upon returning home, that that awful man would not be able to harm him anymore.

Sighing, Elizaveta decided to go through with it after all. It was good news, damn it! Her hand unconsciously flew up to feel her previously wounded shoulder – it still held a bit and ached on rainy days – that absolute fuck was going down, he was! As much as she might have disagreed with Adnan's methods, she had to admit that his man had done the job, even if scaring the hell out of her in the process. Just what kind of man was Alin, after all? To just do that stuff…

But all that didn't really matter, the brunette told herself, mentally bracing for the upcoming encounter as she briefly asked for directions at the reception. The coffee machine in the corner suddenly looked inviting and the detective headed towards it next, digging into the depths of her coat pocket for some change.

"Oh, fuck…" Elizaveta swore when one of the coins slipped and rolled down on the floor, stooping to pick it up. But right then her gaze was suddenly drawn to a pair of heavy black combat boots and she couldn't help trace it upwards, along a pair of thin legs clad in worn dark jeans, a tattered jacket and finally to the pale, lightly freckled face of the blond boy who stood awkwardly near a row of chairs, expectant, but his light-colored eyes observant of her every move.

What the hell? No, she was imagining things, he couldn't have been watching her. She'd never seen the boy before, he must have been some random guy waiting in the lobby. Frowning, she looked away, inserting the coins and pressing the select button for a simple, black coffee with no sugar.

Hot beverage in hand, the detective headed for Feliciano Vargas's room, the soles of her boots producing a light squeak on contact with the perfectly polished floor of the hallway. But even so, the green-eyed woman could still hear a distinctive set of footsteps following and could feel eyes burning in the back of her head. Clutching the paper cup, Elizaveta sped up, attracting the curious gazes of two nurses walking down the hall from the opposite direction. No… what the fuck? The Hungarian dug into her bag with the one free hand and after some frenzied search managed to locate her compact and took it out, flicking it open with her thumb. As inconspicuous as possible, she angled the small mirror to check if she really wasn't going crazy for some reason. No. The weird boy was following, his steps light but determined, he wasn't even trying to hide. Shit!

"Yeah?"

"Alin, listen to me. I'm at the hospital, I came to see the Vargas boy, but there's someone following me!" Elizaveta's hand trembled lightly as she held the phone tightly pressed to her ear and whispered.

"Who?"

"I don't know, now do I?! Some haggard kid I've never seen before, but he looks really shady! I can only think that… hell, Borisov must have found out by now that Vargas was arrested again and we've… set things in motion somehow! I need you to come here right away, East Wing, room 205B! And bring that asshole boyfriend of yours as well!"

Gilbert sighed, his fingers drumming lightly against the wheel as they waited for the traffic light to go green. As he sat slumped on the side on the passenger seat, his cheek pressed against the cold window, the rifleman knew something was bugging his boyfriend and, as reluctant as he may have been on opening said subject, he knew the efficacy of 'better out than in'.

"What?" he asked at last, red eyes trailing in the Prussian's direction warily.

"You're getting too worked up on this," came the blunt reply while the other continued to stare ahead, setting the car in motion as soon as the lights changed.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean just what I said – you're getting too worked up on this job… and on this man. You're taking it personally, Alin, and you'll end up making a mistake."

Taking it personally… Well. "I can't help it, okay? He's just… so much like my mother, it's like they have the same kind of twisted, fucked-up brain or something!" the strawberry blond retorted angrily, yet aware that his outburst only confirmed his boyfriend's statement.

Alin chewed on his bottom lip, looking away. He couldn't help feeling guilty that after the last unfortunate occurrence Gilbert was right to be worried for him. It wasn't like the Prussian was keeping himself out of danger on a regular basis or spared him of worrying, but still… On top of it, this whole thing of the two of them being in an 'open' relationship for job's sake was beginning to take its toll on his sense of security and emotional balance. Sure, hunting was fun on some fucked-up level, especially for screwed people like they were, and it was making him feel strong and self-assured, but… maybe they'd had enough of it. He wanted to be with Gilbert, needed the man's affection and care and it would have been great if they could have simply stopped fucking other people and getting a bitter taste in their mouth in the process. And then there was Borisov, who, just like the ultimate object of dread in his life, oscillated in a hallucinating manner between radically opposed states of mind and attitudes and Alin had simply found himself hating him. Viscerally so, with passion.

"Look, it's not like I haven't happened to see my old man in some of those I worked to apprehend," the other officer said after a while. "Violent and disgusting and… just fucking sickening. But I guess… I managed to put that behind when I got a restraining order against him and took Ludwig's custody from him. That's something you never got yourself, some sort of payback and closure… And I think we also got into this sort of thing believing it was right for us in the light of everything we'd already been through and that we were tough enough to do it, but maybe we were wrong to think that it wouldn't affect us."

The Romanian looked at him, his mouth twisted in a pained grimace. "I think we are strong enough to make sure that at least some other people will be spared…"

"I know, baby," Gilbert replied with a soft smile, reaching out and brushing his knuckles gently against the strawberry blond's cheek.

Scowling at the screen, Tsvetan tapped his thumb against the side of his cell phone, torn between anxiety and sheer annoyance. Why were all these complications piling up all the sudden? A certain cute Romanian had just walked out the door after an unlikely make-up for which he was endlessly grateful to the fucking Universe and almost immediately afterwards had come the news of Vargas's arrest.

But there was no fight this time, the police had taken him without any explanation and in the light of the shit he'd thrown the Bulgarian's way the night before… it could have very well been that the cops had caught wind of what the man was doing at his restaurant. Fuck!

It was that woman – the brunette he'd seen before, the one Vanko had tried to gun down and had died trying. That bitch was behind all this for sure and now Georgiev… well, it seemed that Kiril was getting rusty and wasn't thinking things through anymore, because he'd made up his mind that the detective had to disappear and that young Georgi was the man for the job. Like hell he was! The kid may have been inconspicuous, but it wasn't much to be underestimated about him – he was inexperienced and lacked the stomach for the job, even if he was eager to prove himself to the boss. And now he wasn't answering his fucking phone!

Something was wrong, Tsvetan could feel it, despite not being able to put his finger on it, something fucked up was happening behind his back, there clearly must have been a reason why things were going the way they were. He'd just have to find it.

Elizaveta stared numbly at the sleeping boy, feeling worn and hollow. It had been weird to deliver the news in a whisper to the mostly slumbering form, but she'd done it anyway because… maybe he could still hear her, maybe he could understand. The doctor had explained the Hungarian that Feliciano was unstable more often than not, the shock having turned the happy, cheerful teen from before into an utter wreck and they were giving him some heavily numbing medication which was keeping him barely awake most of the time.

Her visit had not appeared to cause him further distress, or any sort of visible reaction. He'd listened quietly, with somewhat of a blank gaze and had fallen asleep halfway through her speech, his small, frail hand still cradled in her own. She didn't want to let go of the boy, but new there were other things she should have been worried about. Like the creep waiting outside.

The detective's gaze drifted worriedly towards the closed door, eyes glued to the fine cracks in the white paint as she focused her hearing, trying to capture any sounds coming from the other side. But then the door opened quietly and Alin slipped inside, taking in the room in one cautious glance. His gaze swept briefly over the Hungarian before settling on the boy lying in bed. The rifleman gulped, paling visibly and scowling.

"Fuck!" he breathed. "H-how is he?"

Elizaveta looked up and shook her head. "Not so well… They estimate that it will be a while until he manages to get out of this state. The trauma is just too deep," she explained, absently rubbing her thumb on the back of Feliciano's hand.

The officer nodded slowly in reply, but seemingly unable to move from his spot near the door. A few moments of complete silence followed, Alin's gaze fixed on the sleeping teen's face as if in some sort of peculiar trance where he barely dared to breathe, like a frozen fright. The brunette's stomach cringed with a sudden bad feeling – now this would only push her subordinate into more reckless stuff, for the sake of fixing what was for the most part beyond their power to fix. Hell!

"Right," the strawberry blond said at last, snapping out of it."Let's go, Gilbert's already taken your newest friend down at the station. We picked him up 'right from the pot', he was patiently waiting for you outside."

"What?!" The Hungarian nearly jumped from her seat at the words, her eyes wide. She snatched her bag and slung the strap over her shoulder hurriedly, heading for the door quietly, but barely restraining her impatience and anxiety. "So who is he?!" the detective demanded, as soon as they were outside in the hallway.

"Well your gut feeling was correct, if that makes you feel any better, detective," Alin said with a brief grimace."He's one of the Bulgarians – his name's Georgi Yanev AND the kid had a gun on him. One retarded move, if you ask me. The hell were they thinking? But at any rate, Borisov clearly thinks that you are at the root of all his problems, especially now that Vargas was put to chill again."

Elizaveta couldn't help rolling her eyes. "When in fact it's you," she pointed bluntly.

The youth slumped in his seat, half-hugging himself as he stared at the plastic cup of water in front of him. The detective observed him through the glass chewing her lip, pondering on how to approach the situation. It was rather hard to be cool and objective when someone was out to get you, but… Georgi Yanev didn't look like a killer. Maybe he'd somehow ended up being forced into this situation?

"Alin? Maybe… I don't know… we shouldn't…"

"We shouldn't what, Elizaveta? Make no mistake, if it were after him, you'd now be lying dead in some trash can!"

The uncharacteristic harshness in the Romanian's tone nearly shocked her and she turned abruptly, looking him in the eye. She must have been right, the sight of the younger Vargas had really affected him. That and whatever shit had actually occurred between him and Borisov, because she didn't buy shit that he'd stumbled over a chair and that was how he'd gotten bruised and all.

"Oh, look at him, Alin. He's just a kid! Do you really think he would have gone through with it? And what if he was forced to do it? What if he had no choice?"

The strawberry blond snorted."I doubt Borisov or Georgiev would leave such an important task in the hands of someone forced to do it, it would be just too much of a risk of things going wrong. If you ask me they're running short on 'qualified staff' after losing Vanko Balakov and the other one. Hold on-" He promptly fished the phone out of his pocket and checked the caller ID. "Oh, guess who it is…"

"Ugh, make it quick, will you? More important matters," Elizaveta pointed with her finger towards the interrogation room "in there!"

Borisov's timing really sucked, Alin decided. His day had already started horribly and he wasn't in the mood of putting a sweet voice on and whisper lovely little nothings into the fuck's ear. Pfft! Had to be done though, at least for a little while longer.

"Hey, Tsvetan!" Somehow he managed to sound mildly excited to receive the other's call.

"What's up, baby? I missed you. How's studying so far? Just wanted to check that you're not too stressed out…"

Alin scowled."No chance for that, I took a break and I'm… cleaning," the rifleman said, thinking that in fact he would have to do it when he got home. Seriously, Gil would have to take up the issue of the ever-occurring mess with Francis and Antonio!

A chuckle resounded at the other end of the line. "Oh wow, I bet you look really sexy now, my little pumpkin! Actually, I'd love to see you do housework, panting and sweating and… stuff."

"Yeah, you and my useless roommates. That's mean, actually," the blond observed, shrugging at the scowling Hungarian. God, Borisov was such an idiot. And a slave driver.

"What? You'd look so cute in a maid uniform! With a short black skirt and a cute frilly little white apron…" Borisov was speaking loud enough to be heard even outside the conversation and Elizaveta mouthed a 'that's sick!', making a funny grimace, but the Romanian wasn't amused in the least.

"Nope, Tsvetan, I don't do cross-dressing or cos-…play or whatever the fuck that's called, so-"

"Awww, why not?"

"Why, would you?" Alin asked rolling his eyes.

"No…. But then again, I don't bottom either."

What? Did he-…? Oh, yeah, he'd actually said that, his ears weren't deceiving him all the sudden. The fucker, he'd be bottoming soon enough - like he'd never dreamed of doing too - when they would get their hands on his cute little ass in the maximum security prison where he was going! That thought did help to counter the strawberry blond's annoyance to some extent.

"Right. Well, I've got to go now, Tsve, I really have a lot to do. I'll call you in the morning, okay?"

"Have fun, baby!"

Alin hung up, gritting his teeth. "Fuck you, asshole!" he swore out loud before turning his attention to the detective. "Right, where were we? Ah, yes. What do you need from him?" he asked, pointing at the glass.

"I think we're good to get a search warrant and get things going if he gives a detailed statement," Elizaveta replied.

Before she could say anything else, the Romanian stormed past her into the interrogation room and slammed his palms on the table determined, making the boy nearly jump from his seat in alarm. The brunette followed quickly, expecting the worst and fleetingly wondering whether he'd gotten Ivan to mute the surveillance cameras again.

"Listen to me very carefully now, Mr. Yanev. Look at me. I know who you are and who your 'friends' are. Or should I say 'were'? See, I gunned down Vanko Balakov and the other one who got arrested after the accident…"

"Krasimir Vantchev," the Hungarian supplied.

"Vantchev, yeah, he didn't make it either," the rifleman went on. "So if you don't give us what we want-"

"Fuck you, bastard cop!" the boy shouted angrily, jumping to his feet, but his voice was shaking. "You can't threaten me, I know my rights-"

"Ah yes," Alin cut him off unfazed. "You have the right to remain silent. Fair enough if you ask me, dead people don't talk. And you know, all sorts of terrible accidents happen these days…" he added, shaking his head.

Georgi didn't answer this time but dropped back on his seat, eyes bulging and lips parted, the ultimate expression of horror.

"I believe he'll write the statement now," the officer informed Elizaveta, leaving the room, before she could ask what the actual fuck he was thinking and where and who the fuck did he think he was.

Even if it may have been yet too soon to draw any conclusions, the Hungarian couldn't help feeling that the noose was tightening around Borisov, Georgiev and what was left of their gang. They were panicking and making mistakes, it seemed, well good! Now with Yanev's testimony on top of Vargas's information the search warrant for the big warehouse was as good as secured. All she had to do for now was to work on the report and get it on Adnan's desk as soon as possible.

But the brunette's content and productive mood as she walked towards her office after the short lunch break was ruined by the sudden commotion in the hallway. There was shouting and murmuring and a lot of people were gathered in the doorframe of Roderich's office. And someone was calling an ambulance.

Elizaveta stopped dead in her tracks, lips slightly parted and trembling as she stared, unable to process what she was seeing. Something was wrong, something had happened to him. The matted glass door bearing the inscription 'Internal Affairs' was open and Arthur Kirkland was currently leaning against it, observing the unfolding events and pinching the bridge of his nose as if this were some big annoyance. He looked up as he spotted her, peeling himself from the door to block her path.

"Miss Héderváry…"

"What happened?!" She tried to push past the Englishman, dropping the empty paper cup she'd been holding, but the blond's arm kept her in place.

"Looks like he took a sleeping pills overdose, they found an empty container on his desk. They'll take him to the hospital-"

"NO! Roderich, no! Why?!" Her hand flew to her mouth and only then Elizaveta felt the moisture of her cheeks, as she slumped helplessly against the internal affairs officer's shoulder, sobbing silently. No way, no fucking way this was happening now!

To be continued