Hello everybody!

I am finally back from Iggyland, it was AWESOME! (Although I will never try a scone or ale again... I was traumatized, seriously. Never again. I even couldn't find the courage to try porridge, maybe another time... *shudders*). British people are absolutely wonderful and polite, and I was also lucky with the infamous English weather.

Oh, and British accent is fabulous! *drools*

(Oh, and to'reviewer 'Random Person', I've already drawn pictures for this fanfic! :D But my scanner is having problems at the moment, I don't think they will be up any time soon... sadly enough :( )

ANYWAY!

Here's the new chapter you've all been waiting for! (at least I hope so :3 )

Please sit back, und ENJOY.

Antonio yawned, as he stretched out on his bed. Something fell on the floor. With one eye open, he lazily looked at what it had been. Oh, the files folder.

Had he fallen asleep while reading them…?

He felt something rolling on his chest, as well as another weight. He craned his neck to look at it while he was still lying down.

A pencil, and his notebook.

He yawned again. With one hand he rubbed an eye, with the other he picked up the notebook and set it aside. Then, he sat up, still rubbing his left eye.

He hadn't even changed his clothes, and his shirt was all wrinkled. Oh well, he didn't care.

He smacked his lips, and his gaze fell onto the fallen files. A picture had slipped out from them, so he picked it up. It was Italy's photo. His face was neutral, not a single expression on his features, he could not distinguish which of the two personalities it was.

His brow furrowed. Italy's eyes contained a hint of irritation, very faint, but it was there.

Hmm, this was his dangerous personality.

He briefly wondered again how Ludwig would be doing if Italy woke up in that mood. He smiled to himself, closing his eyes, imagining the scene.

Antonio picked up the files and put the picture in them again, and then he put the whole thing beside him on the bed.

His notebook lied slightly opened, revealing pages filled with words, drawings, doodles and arrows going in every direction without an apparent logic. The Spaniard closed it again, and put it in his new suit's jacket, along with the pencil.

"Come on, get up, lazy." He muttered to himself, as he gathered the energy to stand up. He did so, huffing, and arched his back, yawning again.

"A new day, new possibilities!" He murmured optimistically smiling, putting on the jacket without even bothering to fix his hair or shirt a little.

He thought it could be a good idea to visit Vargas at the hospital. Maybe Ludwig wouldn't be able to cope with the dangerous mood, and either way, he would be tired. And to be completely honest, Antonio didn't have a single clue where else he could go.

So he found himself on the way for the hospital.

In no time he was walking through the hallways, and when he encountered a policeman, he was sure he was in the right wing of the building.

The man didn't even remember him, and thinking he was a random visitor, he let him through. There were many other people that could be more dangerous than him, in that corridor crowed with medics, nurses, patients and other visitors.

And, coincidence above coincidence, he bumped into a man he knew well. Ludwig.

"Excuse me." The German muttered, without even looking at him.

Antonio grabbed his arm. "Hey, Ludwig! Don't you recognize me?" he joked.

He looked back, and blinked, as he recognized. "Antonio, verdammnt, how many times do I have to tell you we mustn't be seen?!"

"Couldn't help it, you kind of bumped into me, am I right?" The Spaniard laughed. He noticed Ludwig looked tired, a couple of slightly dark rings under his eyes.

"Tough day? How's Italy doing?"

Ludwig shook his head. "No, not really. Italy's recovering, but keeps slipping in and out of consciousness. I couldn't really get anything out of him. Before falling asleep he sometimes mutters something about a grandfather, but we already know he had one and thus it is completely uninteresting information." He reported mechanically.

"Can I try and get something out of him?" Antonio offered, caring to keep his voice down.

"Suit yourself, I'm surely not going to stop you. I'm going to get a coffee, I'll see you in half an hour in the bathrooms, okay?" Ludwig muttered, looking around.

Antonio grinned. "Sure. See you later!" In no time the blond had disappeared in the mass of people in the corridor.

The Spaniard headed for the patient's grey door, marked with the number 307B. When he opened the door he found Italy awake, gazing outside the window.

He didn't immediately notice him, which gave Antonio the chance of examining his features when they were relaxed from nearby. This was still the 'innocent' mood, also probably caused by the meds. Yet, somehow, something still didn't add up to him.

"¡Hola!" he greeted, smiling broadly.

Italy slowly turned his head to look at him, eyes half-lidded. He blinked.

His lips parted, and the words that came out confused the Spaniard.

"…Who… are you…?"

Thoughts and hypothesis immediately started raging in Antonio's head. And without a particular order.
What? Huh? Didn't he recognize him? Why? Could he have hit his head? What? Was it the meds? Or was it the whole personality disorder's fault? Didn't the two personalities share memories?

Antonio quickly recollected himself. He was still in front of the Boss of the mafia, even if he didn't recognize him. He awkwardly rubbed the back of his head.

"Er, whoops. I think I got the wrong room. Sorry, I'll leave immediately." He said, and quickly turned away before the Italian could react. He closed the door shut and leaned with his back to the wall beside it, eyes wide.

What the hell happened?

Someone tapped on his shoulder, startling him out of his thoughts. A nurse. "Mister? I'm sorry, but you have to leave." She said.

Antonio blinked. "…Huh? Why?"
The nurse shrugged. "Medic supervisor's order. Please leave." She didn't bother to be too polite.

Antonio found it strange, but obliged. He'd have to talk to Ludwig about this.

He left Italy's wing together with many other people, he wasn't the only one. There were other patients beside the infamous Vargas, and so naturally there were other visitors. Who had to leave all as well. Antonio also saw Ludwig, still clutching a half-full plastic cup of coffee, led away by a medic. The German nodded once to acknowledge the Spaniard's presence, signalling they couldn't talk when there were too many people around.

Once they left the wing, the medics and nurses stopped pushing and/or dragging and/or leading them away, and blocked the doors. No one could enter the wing anymore.

People were loudly complaining about it all, muttering that they didn't understand what was going on and why. One or two got into an argument with a couple of nurses, and were led away by a guard.

Ludwig glared at the grey doors for a while, and then started walking through the hospital, Antonio understanding and discreetly following through the complaining visitors.

Once they finally got to a deserted corridor, Ludwig halted and turned. And grabbed him by his shirt's collar, lifting him up a little.

"What the hell did you do?!" He snarled, their noses centimetres apart.

Antonio gasped, grabbing Ludwig's hand. The blond hadn't lifted him in the air – not that he wouldn't be capable of that – but it still wasn't comfortable. He looked the other deep in the eyes. Ludwig was angry, there were icy blue flames dancing behind his irises, so Antonio did his best to remain calm.

"…What do you mean?"

"You know very well what I mean! What did you do?! They are isolating Vargas!" Ludwig hissed.

Antonio swallowed. "Isolating…?"

"Nobody's permitted to get near him, orders of the medic supervisor. They isolated the whole damn wing." Ludwig explained. "There must be a reason behind this. Before you came here, everything was going well. I was beside his bed, ready for anything that would slip out of him because of the medication-induced sluggishness. It was perfectly fine. How come that ten minutes after you enter the hospital everything goes down the drain?!"

The Spaniard was now having doubts himself. "I-I don't know!" He coughed once, grasping again Ludwig's hand that was holding the collar. The German blinked, as if he had just realized what he had been doing, and released him abruptly.

Antonio hunched his shoulders and took deep breaths, coughing once.

"Tell me what you did." Ludwig ordered, glacial. "And you better give me a good explanation."

"Okay, okay! You don't need to glare at me like that!" the Spaniard quickly said, straightening up again. "I honestly don't know what I could have done wrong! I just walked in and said hi! But now that I think of it, something strange did happen…"

Ludwig's stony expression didn't change. "Go on."

"He should know me, right? I met him thrice, so it would make sense, right? Yet… he didn't recognise me." Antonio finished. "I thought maybe it was the meds, maybe he hit a wall with his head or something, or… How do you think the two personalities interact? Do they have each other's memories?"

At this, something flashed in Ludwig's eyes for the briefest of moments.

Antonio frowned. "A light bulb appeared over your head, Ludwig. What are you thinking about?"

The German swallowed, and a hand went for the pocket in his trousers. "…I honestly don't know for sure. It's probably stupid…"

"…But?" Antonio insisted.
"…Nothing. It is stupid. Nevermind, ignore that. It isn't important. But even if what you say is true, I don't understand why they would isolate Italy that much and so quickly… I'm starting to get the idea that it wasn't your fault." Ludwig muttered, frowning.
"Thank you very much, I'm innocent! About the reason, why don't we simply ask the medic supervisor?" Antonio offered. "It's simple, no?"
Ludwig blinked at the Spaniard's simplicity. "You honestly think it will work." He said sarcastically.

"Why not? It doesn't hurt to try! After all, we are just harmless tourists!" Antonio smiled broadly, already starting to walk back to the wing where Italy laid.

Ludwig stopped him by grabbing his shoulder. "I should go. Not you. Antonio, you're not supposed to be here. I don't even know why you actually came here in the first place, but it's better if you leave."

Antonio sighed dramatically. "Ah, but then you get all the fun…"

Fun? Fun?! Ludwig wanted to snap at him. But he knew better.

"Leave, Antonio."

"…You're making me feel useless! Argh, fine. I'll go poke my nose in the city a bit, see if I can find anything interesting. But you better fill me in tonight at the hotel." The Spaniard pouted, shoulders hunched, as he walked into the direction of the exit.

Ludwig sighed, covering his eyes with one hand. Dealing with Antonio was like dealing with a child.

He walked back to Italy's wing, and found the medic supervisor easily. Ludwig frowned. This wasn't the same medic he and the Captain had seen. The previous medic supervisor had been an Italian, not this light blond man with a foreign surname on his tag. Ludwig could barely read the tiny letters.

Doctor Zwingli. Yes, he definitely wasn't Italian.

"Excuse me, doctor?" He said to attract his attention, as the medic was concentrated on filling in some kind of form on his note pad.

The medic turned to look, and for a millisecond, something flashed in his eyes when he stared at the German in front of him. Ludwig internally groaned: he had already been recognized as Vargas' buddy.

"Can I help you?" he asked with a peculiar accent. Ludwig blinked. A German accent? No, it wasn't like that… Austrian, maybe?

"Yes, actually. I would like to ask why I'm not permitted to visit somebody in this wing." Ludwig asked.

Zwingli scowled, green eyes as cold as ice. "No one is permitted to enter at the moment, mister. And… I'm pretty sure we both know this somebody you want to visit. He needs complete isolation. Sadly enough, we had to isolate the whole wing as well, so you aren't the first one that asked me this. That's the reason, have a nice day."

No, not Austrian. The accent was Swiss. Damn it, the strictest of all Europeans, just his luck. It would not be easy.

But the German wasn't ready to back down yet. He managed to make a smile appear on his lips. "I don't think you understand, doctor."

"Oh, I think I understand quite a lot." The medic snapped back.

Ludwig tried another approach. "Where did the previous supervisor go? He was here yesterday, is he ill?"
"No, he simply left for a well-earned holiday. I'm only substituting him." Was the explanatory statement.
Ludwig's guts constricted. A well-earned holiday. Yeah, right. The more he thought about this whole mess, the more it smelled rotten.

"...I'd still like to know the reason though, of why I can't visit him."

The Swiss glared at him with those glacial eyes again. "Professional secret. His condition requires a lot of rest and peace. And as a medic, I can't tell you why. Now, as I said before, have a nice day."

Ludwig however saw something in those eyes, before they turned away. A silent message, and most probably unintentional, was hidden behind the medic's eyes. A quiet plea that could not be spoken.

'Help'.

Ludwig grabbed Zwingli's arm. "I know something's wrong. And we both know you don't want to do this. I can help." He whispered as low as he could and in German, their gazes locking.

The medic looked surprised at first, not expecting that from Italy's new best buddy. The Swiss understood there was more to the German than met the eye, but he didn't ask anything. His glare returned, together with a scowl. "No. You can't." he answered whispering in the same language.

Ludwig tried to protest. "But-"

"You don't understand, they have my sister. I'm sorry, but I can't risk it. I have to obey their orders, I don't have a choice." The Swiss hissed. Then, in normal tone, so anyone around would be able to hear, "For the last time, have a nice day. Kindly leave the hospital, there's nothing more for you to do here."

Ludwig found himself mentally cursing while he exited the building.

Five days passed without anything happening.

Nothing.

Five whole days.

Mostly because the centre of their investigations was lying isolated in a hospital. Antonio couldn't find anything around the city, it seemed that once the Boss was gone, all illegal actions and traffics had frozen. There was nothing to do.

So they both spent those days in complete idleness, with nothing to do except waiting. Even the Captain hadn't contacted them. For the two detectives this pause was a nuisance, for the Brit instead it was probably a blessing.

The German knew that after five days Italy would be able to walk again, and that he'd leave. So the Mafioso would be released the next morning, while he would stalk the exit of the hospital. To do what exactly, he didn't know. Maybe follow him to his villa. Maybe he would see something interesting. Hmmm, he'd have to unpack his camera. Maybe there was something worth to see or know. Sometimes you had to analyze pictures to find something that could incriminate somebody.

He smiled simply thinking about that. That camera was his small treasure. It was a brand-new model, it had cost a king's ransom but it had been worth it. It was a wonderful American Polaroid SX-70, which could be folded until it fit in a pocket. It took pictures and immediately blurted out a piece of paper with the picture already printed on it…! The progress of technology would never cease to amaze him. He started imagining the wonders that the future progress would be able to produce. Who knew, maybe one day cars would fly above the ground instead of having wheels, and robots would make chores. Perhaps one day people would be able to carry televisions around and watch anything they wanted whenever they wanted. Maybe one day they would even carry telephones around…! Ludwig chuckled. It seemed ridiculous, but maybe it was a possibility. It would also be incredibly handy, not needing phone booths anymore.

However during these musings, his mind slowly and lazily tracked back to the nightmare he had had in Italy's room. If it had been a nightmare. His brain still couldn't get a satisfactory answer for the toothpick, even if he had a theory.

A very strange and farfetched theory. It was probably foolish. He hadn't even told Antonio about it, because of how stupid it sounded. Before making a fool out of himself, he'd have to research some more. But how could he when the main problem was being isolated by a blackmailed medic?!

So he had to wait. Without doing anything at all.

He couldn't even report the blackmail of the Vargas mafia. Zwingli would probably deny everything, for the sake of his sister. And even if he did collaborate, something highly improbable, his sister would probably be found dead somewhere so that she wouldn't testimony anything. And they'd be back to square one. Third reason he shouldn't do it, his cover would most probably be completely blown.

Ludwig sighed, rubbing his temples. This was turning out to be more difficult than he had thought. He and the Spaniard had made some progress, but not much. He dearly hoped the future would be kinder to them.

He glanced at his watch. Antonio had gone out for a walk. Which crazy fool would take a stroll outside at 11.30 pm in this city anyway? He didn't argue though. Antonio was free to do what he wanted, Ludwig wasn't his mother. And he trusted the Spaniard to be more resourceful than he looked like. He otherwise wouldn't have survived all these years as a well-known detective in a busy and troubled city like Madrid.

The blond took out a book from his brown bag. He had to relax himself a little before going to sleep.

About two hours later, Ludwig was still reading, time completely forgotten and sleep still too far away. Suddenly, he heard the phone by his dresser ring.

His brow furrowed. What in the heavens? One thirty in the morning? Who would call at this hour?

He hesitated a moment before standing up and answering the phone on the dresser.

"…Hello?"

On the other side of the line, a woman's voice echoed. "I am so terribly sorry to disturb you, sir! I hope you weren't asleep yet!" Ludwig recognized the woman's voice. It was the receptionist of the hotel.

"No, not at all, I wasn't sleeping yet. What is it?" He asked politely.

"There is a phone call for you, from a man who refused to say his name on the phone! He says it is important, I trust you know this man, sir?" The woman asked, worried.

Ludwig frowned. There could be only three people who would want to call him at the moment: Carriedo, Kirkland or Delisi. He guessed it was one of the three.

"Sure, please put him on. Thanks, miss." He answered. He sat down on his bed as he waited for the caller to connect.

Some rustling signalled the connection. A hushed voice reached his ears, but it certainly wasn't one he had been expecting. And it spoke German.

"Listen closely, because I won't repeat myself: Vargas will be dismissed tonight at three from the hospital, not tomorrow morning. That is all I can say to help." A small pause. "Get that bastard."

This being said, the call ended.

Ludwig stared unbelievingly at the phone in his palm, as his brain processed what had just happened.

The medic, Zwingli, had called him. He had somehow found his number, and he had called to warn him that Italy would leave the hospital tonight, when nobody would see. He had deemed him trustworthy enough to call him for it. He had risked his sister's safety so that he would perhaps get something that would incriminate the Mafioso.

Ludwig almost forgot his camera when he bolted out of his room.

He was standing in a dark alley, away from the streetlights, leaning onto the side of a building. He swallowed, glancing nervously at his watch. It was almost three in the morning. It wouldn't be long now… His eyes went to the exit of the hospital.

He glanced at the watch again.

Three o'clock.

There wasn't a dog on the streets.

And then he saw something moving behind the ground glass of the hospital. Three people, standing around a fourth who seemed to be pushing something. Ludwig vaguely recognized it as… a wheelchair, maybe?

He swallowed again. He felt oddly nervous and tense, as if something bad could happen any minute now. As if anything could just go wrong.

The glass and metal door opened, the five men exiting the building. Indeed, the fourth person was pushing a wheelchair with Italy in it. A black car stopped not too far away, engine still on, most probably waiting for them.

Ludwig's hand went to reach for his camera.

That's when he felt something cold pressing against the back of his head.

His eyes widened in shock as he recognized it as the metal of a gun barrel.

"I knew he shouldn't have trusted you. Don't fucking move." A disappointed voice behind him ordered in English.

Ludwig stopped immediately, his hand mere millimetres from the camera, and at the same time mere centimetres from the Walther P5.

"Move your hands up. Slowly." The voice continued. "Don't you even think about dirty tricks."

Ludwig's brain started working again, while with his eyes he followed Italy and his gorillas who were slowly walking away to the car. Damn, Kirkland had warned him of muggers. Even if he was Vargas' best buddy, in the dark it made no difference at all who he was. "If it's money you're looking for, I don't have any."

"Who cares about fucking money. Hands up, I said!" The voice commanded, pressing the gun a little more to the back of his neck.

The German slowly obliged, but was already thinking of a way to disarm the man behind him. He wondered what he wanted. As soon as both his hands were beside his head, the voice let out a soft chuckle.
"You thought you were smart, didn't you… Fritz Beilschmidt?" the voice mocked him.

The German didn't answer. He breathed in deeply. The men were around the car and helping Italy get in it. He'd soon lose him…! Yet, something the voice said threw him completely off-guard and made him forget everything about Italy.

"…Or should I call you Ludwig…?" the voice hissed.

That shocked him. His cover was blown…!
He immediately reacted, his brain mechanically analyzing the situation. Most probably, the man would be right-handed. The voice didn't come from somewhere above him, it meant the man wasn't taller than him, actually he probably was a little shorter. Thus, he would have his right arm raised. And his side would be unprotected.

Ludwig quickly ducked and turned 180 degrees to his right, jabbing his right elbow in the man's unprotected ribs.

A surprised cry and a bang echoed through the alley, and Ludwig was ready to face his opponent. He swiftly took out his trusty Walther P5 but the man, shrouded in darkness, knocked it out of his hands. He barely managed to curse, holding the offended hand, before he staring down a Beretta's barrel. Ludwig stopped moving immediately.

They both were panting, adrenaline pumping in them. He tried to discern the man's face in the dark, and had the strangest déjà-vu.

For some dumb trick of fate, a scooter passed by, and lit the alley for the smallest of moments. In the dim and momentary yellow light, Ludwig discerned the face of his attacker.

And he was confused more than ever.

This man wasn't supposed to be standing in front of him.
This man was supposed to be in a not too far away car, together with henchmen…!

So why the hell was Italy Vargas standing right in front of him?!

Italy(?) cursed at the momentary light, and glanced at something behind Ludwig. That's when the German was struck from behind with the butt of a gun.

The strike was hard, yet not enough to make him fall unconscious completely. At least not immediately.

He vaguely heard some muffled voices, on the background. As if behind a thick wall of glass.

"You fucking idiots, what took you so long?!"

A mumbled sentence Ludwig didn't catch was the answer.

"Well, at least you got him. And I think the crucco will get the hint."

Ludwig hear some footsteps, and a shoe lifting his cheek up.

"Damn bastard, consider yourself lucky to still be alive. It's not my concern, or job, to finish you. Thank whichever star you were born under, because we don't like liars. Stay the fuck away from the Vargas family, capito?"

Something finally clicked in Ludwig's mind, as if two puzzle pieces had finally connected, showing the whole picture.

Realisation struck him harder than the butt of that gun had.

How could he have been so stupid.

How could they all have been so stupid.

So simply, utterly stupid.

It had almost been obvious.

Then, nothing.

He felt himself slip, and everything went black.

Well, that escalated quickly.

(Btw, poor Switzy and his sister...! As well as poor Luddy lying inconscious in an alley... ._.)

Nothing more to say, except that I LOVE YOU ALL and that I hope to see you next chapter! (0w0)/

Ciao ciao!

...

Crucco :(italilan) Kraut

Capito? : (italian) Understood?

Polaroid SX-70 : It's a folding single lens reflex Land camera, produced by the Polaroid Corporation from 1972. Its pictures ejected automatically and developed quickly without any chemical residue. Could fit in a pocket because it was foldable and could take five pictures in ten seconds, both actions impossible for the previous Land cameras.