Arthur Kirkland, also known as agent England, walked nervously down the halls of The Foundation's main base in DC. He had finally gotten a check-in report from agent America, which he was ecstatic about, but now he had to talk to the Commissioner about getting a raid party set up. This wouldn't normally be a problem, but, since this mission was so sensitive, the Comissioner was involved in its every step; any major decision had to be approved by him.

Arthur adjusted his tie once again. He would admit that he didn't relish that he had to speak with the Commissioner; the man had always given him a very bad feeling. He never trusted him. Having never seen the man's face before, it was no wonder. How can you trust someone who won't reveal their identity to you? It was the same with most of the other agents; they'd never seen the man's face before. Arthur only knew of a few agents that had seen the man in the light. They were agents Spring, Summer, Fall, and Winter; the Commissioner's personal agents. They went only on missions that the Commissioner assigned to them, and they rarely went on group missions with the other agents.

Arthur had met all four of them before, but that was only due to him being one of the agents in charge of intelligence; basically, he was a glorified record keeper. As he remembered, agents Spring and Summer were rather nice. Agent Spring was relatively young, being only twenty-five, and always seemed to see the good in things. Agent Summer was the oldest agent still working in The Foundation, being seventy-six, but that didn't impede on her abilities in any way. On the other hand, agents Fall and Winter were rather dismal company. Agent Fall was only two years older than agent Spring, but there was a vast difference in their personalities. Agent Fall was a quiet, stoic young man; never giving you any insight into what he was thinking, and he didn't speak unless he thought it was absolutely necessary. Agent Winter was intimidating, cruel, and commanded respect; his icy eyes seemed able to stare through your entire being and freeze your soul.

Arthur began fussing with his shirt collar. Honestly, it was amazing how much power this faceless man held within the government; so many highly trained killers were loyal to him. Arthur was quite happy to be on their side - not that he was a coward, but one man could only do so much.

"Ni hao*, Arthur. What are you doing in this sector, aru?" a curious voice sounded from behind the British man.

Arthur let out an undignified yelp, clutching at his chest. "Bloody hell, Yao, don't sneak up on me like that! I nearly had a heart attack! What the bloody hell are you doing down here?" Arthur retorted caustically.

"I was just going down to the archives; I need to look up some information on a specific case. Now, answer my question, Arthur," the Chinese man answered curtly, folding his arms across his chest patiently.

"Well, if you must know...I'm going to speak with the Commisioner about Amelia's - I mean - agent America's current mission. She has requested a raid party be sent, but I need the Commissioner's approval first," Arthur replied somewhat hesitantly. It wasn't that he distrusted Yao, it was just that he cared too much for Amelia for anything to go wrong. He had to keep as much as he could close to the vest, but there was no harm in bragging a bit about how well the American was doing.

Yao's eyes widened slightly, then narrowed. "You can't be serious...she couldn't have gotten that close to agent Russia already. She's still a rookie agent, there's no way Ivan would let her that close unless he was planning something," he breathed, not believing what the Brit said.

"Well, why don't you just look in the report I wrote on agent America's mission progress? I'm sure it will be excellent reading," Arthur said smugly.

"Arthur Kirkland, do not take what I say lightly! Agent America is in very serious danger, aru! I know how Ivan operates - I helped train him - so don't think that some rookie can take him down easily. Just because agent America's training went on longer than his, doesn't mean that she has what it takes to bring him down! Agent Russia's training was severe; not even I could take him by myself, and I've been doing this much longer than you, let alone Amelia," Yao said in a low voice, eyes locking with Arthur's.

Agent England felt a twinge of doubt in his mind, but decided to ignore it. "Come off it. You're just miffed that the agent you trained isn't performing like he should be, unlike Amelia. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to go talk with the Commissioner," Arthur replied, pushing past the older agent.

Agent China stood there, stunned for a moment, before pursuing after the Brit. "Aiyah, you stupid, foolish European! If you don't intervene soon, agent America will be dead within the week. Your raiding party will arrive at the set location only to find her gutted corpse...I've seen him do it before," Yao exclaimed, his voice pleading.

"Amelia can handle herself...she'll be fine. Besides, how do you know that he's done that sort of thing before? I don't believe I've ever seen the reports on any mission with you and agent Russia," Arthur asked, turning a suspicious look on the Chinese man.

"That's because it wasn't a mission, or not a mission that we were assigned together. I was a part of the team that was sent to track him down when he defected. A rookie agent was with us, agent Holy Roman Empire, and he went ahead to scout. We found his body in one of the old safe houses; he had been cut open like a fish and strangled with his own intestines. It was not a pretty sight, as you can imagine, aru," agent China answered, grimacing when he remembered the terrible sight.

"W-Well, that's not going to happen this time. We'll get there before anything like that happens. This will be a successful mission for Amelia, you'll see. Everything is going as planned, so stop trying to make me second guess myself," Arthur said, trying to cover up his discomfort.

Yao sighed, shaking his head in defeat. "Arthur...," he started to say, but stopped when he saw someone approaching them.

"Hey, Caterpillar Brows, the Commissioner wants to see you! Something 'bout that twerpy American brat's mission...I don't really know. Whenever he starts yappin' about someone who's not the Awesome Me, I tend to drown him out with my awesome thoughts," an obnoxious German accented voice blared from down the hall.

"Don't call me that, you wanker!" Arthur yelled, whirling around to glare at Gilbert Beilschmidt, or agent Prussia.

"Whatever, tea slurper. That brat shouldn't have gotten that mission. It's just unawesome that I can't get my revenge on that good for nothing, big nosed, son of a pig-faced cow!" the German man growled in frustration, running his index finger along the side of his right eye socket. He had lost his right eye in the gun fight that had erupted when agent Russia defected.

"Oh, stow it, you blighter. All you do is complain. Have you ever thought of trying to do something useful for a change?" Arthur muttered darkly, heading down the hallway to the Commissioner's quarters.


Amelia had just gone into the small kitchen to get her breakfast of some sort of flavorless bran cereal when there was a knock at the front door. "Hey, big guy, door," she mumbled around a spoonful of what she considered chunks of cardboard, even if they had been thoroughly coated in sugar.

Ivan gave her an agitated look. "Why can't you get it? I'd like to see you actually use your legs...if only to confirm that you can still walk," he muttered sourly into his coffee. Amelia had whined until she annoyed him enough to buy some.

"But I'm busy trying to chew my way through these wood chips," she whined, poking the soggy bran flakes with her spoon. "Besides, I don't see you doing anything, Ruski," Amelia said, pointing her spoon accusingly at the Russian.

Ivan really felt like throwing his cup of coffee at the wall, but he refrained. "Fine...," he sighed, getting up from the wobbly seat at the small table in the kitchen.

Amelia grinned triumphantly as he left the room. "And the American hero wins another round against the villainous Ruski! USA, USA, USA!" she crowed, pounding the flimsy table with her fists.

"Past' zakroi*!" Ivan barked at Amelia from the other room, opening the door testily.

"Merde*!" a French voice practically screamed.

"Chto za huy*?" Ivan slipped into Russian, a confused tilt to his head as he looked over the Frenchman, who was clutching at his chest with a terrified look on his face. "What are you doing here, Monte? Mortimer couldn't be finished relocating yet...," he muttered, more to himself than Francis.

"Mon dieu*! I thought you were going to take my head off! My beauty would have been stolen from the world, do you know how incredibly saddening that would have been?!" Francis exclaimed dramatically, flicking back his hair.

"Yo, Frenchie, what're you doin' here?" Amelia popped her head into the main room, chugging down her cup of hot coffee.

"Well, I was looking for you, of course. After Mortimer had us all move out, I didn't get the chance to see if you had made it out alright. Besides, you left your suitcase in the back of my car," Francis explained, sauntering into the safe house.

"Sweet! I've been wearing the same crummy clothes that you picked out for me for days," Amelia said cheerfully, pumping her fist.

"I offered you some of mine," Ivan growled, keeping his eyes on agent France.

"Dude, none of them came even close to fitting me...and they were all...commie...ish," Amelia replied, waving her arms around excessively and rolling her eyes.

Ivan gave her a cold glare, but didn't say anything. He fingered the faded scarf that he had on, running the worn fabric between his index finger and the pad of his thumb.

Amelia took notice of this action. She'd seen him do it before, usually when he had gotten really annoyed with her or was silently angry at one of her comments. "What is with you and that scarf? You wear it like it's a freaking sin not to! It's not even cold right now!" Amelia pointed out, eyeing the dirty white scarf that looked like it had been a light pink color in its better days.

"It's none of your concern...You wouldn't understand it, anyway," the Russian replied curtly, letting his hand fall away from the old garment.

"Jeez, touchy. Whatever, I'm gonna go and get my stuff out of your car, Frenchie," Amelia said, shrugging off the comment as she headed out the door.

"So, is that really why you're here, Monte? I've never taken you as the type of person to do something so trivial out of the kindness of your heart," Ivan asked, amethyst eyes pinning a piercing look on the blond man.

Francis felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, and a prickling sensation traveled slowly down his spine. "Ahem...well, I assure you that I had no ulterior motives, Jean*. I am good friends with, uh, Jessica-" Francis stopped mid sentence at the glint in the Russian's eyes when he had paused before using Amelia's cover name.

"Oh, really?" Ivan asked sarcastically, placing a gloved hand on the now shaking Frenchman's shoulder. "You know, Beau, I actually believe you. After all, one would create such bonds of comradery after working together for so long," he said in a deceptively cheerful tone, giving the other man a crooked grin.

Agent France gathered his courage and grabbed the Russian's wrist, wrestling his hand from his shoulder. "Yes, one does, but I don't expect you to understand something of that emotional magnitude, Jean," he retorted caustically, anger flashing in his ocean blue eyes.

Ivan frowned at the man's reaction, expecting him to cower like most people did whenever he got in their personal space or made physical contact. "I suppose I wouldn't, would I?" he replied bluntly, face now blank.

"Yo, the hero's back! So, Frenchie, wanna go get breakfast or something? That nasty cardboard stuff just ain't gonna cut it." Amelia burst back into the main room with her usual oblivious happiness.

"Of course, mon cher. I've been so busy that I hadn't had the time to eat anything this morning. Where would you like to go - and I'm going to say it now, we're not going to that slopmill you like so much," Francis agreed wholeheartedly, taking this chance to edge away from agent Russia.

"Boo...whatever. I think I'll pretty much eat anywhere, so long as it has real food! You comin', Big Red?" Amelia asked, directing her attention to Ivan. She was feeling pretty good right now, and wouldn't actually mind the large Russian coming along. She'd gotten pretty much used to his presence and behavior; it was actually kind of fun getting into stupid arguments with him.

"Nyet, I don't think I will. I have work to do...I'm sure Mortimer will be wanting to go and get the money from that offshore account soon, so I should get details about that from him today. Besides, I wouldn't want to take away from your time with your dear friend," Ivan answered dryly, turning to head back into the small kitchen.

"Aw, come on! Live a little, Red. All you think about is work, you gotta get out and do something different for a change. Besides, running on only coffee and an empty stomach doesn't work so well if you wanna focus on anything. Believe me, I know. Come on, you can put off talkin' to the boss for a day, right?" Amelia countered, clearly not taking no for an answer.

"What don't you get about my answer, American? I do not want to go. That's it. The end. No more. The topic is not up for discussion any longer," Ivan snarled, whirling back around to confirm that she understood what he was saying.

What he didn't expect was for Amelia to grab him by his shirt front and drag him down so that they were almost nose to nose.

"Listen, I'm trying to be nice here, so you either come with me or I dump all that skunk piss you call 'Russian water' down the sink. So, what's it gonna be, Red? You come with me and the Frenchie and relax for once, or you lose all your vodka," Amelia growled, her glasses sliding down her nose a bit.

Ivan was a little at a loss for words. She'd spoken to him like this not once, but twice! It was something he wasn't at all used to, and didn't like very much. He was about to tell her off when someone said, "Fine, I'll go." That...wasn't him...was it?

Amelia's furious scowl was soon replaced with the usual goofy grin of hers. "Cool. You'll have fun, I promise!" she said, releasing the strong grip she had on his shirt. "Frenchie, you're buying!"

The two men stood in mutual shocked silence as the bubbly American paraded out the front door.

What the hell had just happened?


"Commissioner, sir, I would like to request a raid party be prepared as soon as possible on behalf of agent America. Who, as you know, is the agent actively working on the agent Russia mission. She's gotten his location, and is capable of keeping him in said location for at least a couple of days. The requested raid party needs to be figured as soon as possible, sir," Arthur stated, glancing around the pitch black room nervously.

A raspy cough sounded from the back of the dark room. "Hmm, is that so? Well, this agent America has done incredibly well for a rookie. I'll be sure to assemble the best team that I can. Once I've read your report of the mission's progress, of course," a warbly old voice sounded from the dark.

"Of course, sir. I'll get back to my post now, sir," Arthur said in a grateful tone, letting out a breath carefully. He rose from his chair and quickly made his way out of the room.

"Of course, of course. Soon, very soon...my weapon will be put to the test," the voice said once the British man had left down the hall. "What do you say to a little reunion, Nikolai? I'm sure you've been anxious to see your little boy again," the voice addressed someone else in the room, gloating clear in the elderly voice.

Agent Winter remained silent, hands clenched at his sides in futile anger.

A sandy laugh echoed hauntingly through the dark room. "Yes, I thought you'd like that very much," the voice chuckled darkly. In the blackness, an arthritic hand massaged the other.


Ni hao : Hello in Chinese

Past' zakroi : Shut it in Russian

Chto za huy : What the fuck in Russian

Merde : Shit in French

Mon dieu : My God in French

Jean : One of the ways to say Ivan in French

All of these translations were taken from the internet, so they might not be accurate. If any of them are incorrect, please tell me.