O.O I am SO sorry I haven't gotten the chance to update. School has been crazy. Anyway, here's the next one and, once again, I'm so, so sorry.

Anyway, as a side note: have I told you guys that you're the best? Well, I'm telling you again, darn it: you guys are the best! Seriously. Like Prussia-level (roughly level 10,000, I believe) awesome! Just the sheer number of hits makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside! Anyway, so here's to continuing the story and, one more time, I'm so sorry for being so late.

*checks e-mail* Nope, still don't own Hetalia not the characters within.

Chapter Ten:

Blind Eye

Alfred woke up the next morning feeling oddly happy. It likely had something to do with the fact that he'd had a good night's sleep without being bothered by nightmares, a good talk with Arthur, a nice movie, and peace. He even managed to get up earlier than Arthur which was quite the accomplishment, in his book. He pushed the blankets back and crawled out of bed, heading off to the tiny kitchenette to make a couple of cups of coffee.

He was about to wake Arthur up when he realized that he still had a few minutes to check his phone. Glancing over his shoulder to make sure the Brit was still sound asleep, he glanced down at the screen. Sure enough… Ivan had once again made it his personal goal to ruin any peaceful situation Alfred found. He sighed heavily and opened the message.

"Как дела?" the message read.

Alfred sighed, typing back, "Dude, I'm not switching the font on my keyboard for you."

He could almost hear the "kolkolkol" from the other side of the silent conversation. Apparently Ivan wasn't nearly as fast at responding at Kiku. But… that made sense. Kiku was a technology genius. Ivan… was so much. After about ten minutes, he got a reply, "I believe you have a double standard, America. I have to switch my keyboard for you."

Alfred scowled at the phone as though he were scowling at Ivan himself. He typed out his response, "What do you want, Russia?"

He did not expect the answer, "You need to know the truth about Winter." Alfred's immediate reaction was to laugh, but he managed to stifle it. What could he possible not know? The guy was a psycho, he was the best at his line of work, and he was evil. That's all Alfred wanted to know.

He finally forced himself to reply with, "What truth?"

Unfortunately, a light groan forced him to quickly shut the phone off and slip it back in his pocket. He still couldn't risk Arthur knowing about the phone; their lives may just depend on his connection to the anti-Winter group.

He put on a grin for Arthur when he woke up, offering him a cup of coffee. The Brit rubbed sluggishly at his eyes before he accepted it and took a sip. He frowned, "Well, it's certainly not tea."

Alfred scoffed playfully, "'Course not, dude; coffee's much better."

Arthur shook his head, but didn't argue. He got up and walked to the bathroom after finishing his coffee to get dressed. For some reason, Alfred didn't dare look at the new message he was sure was on his phone.

Arthur frowned as he paced back and forth while in the middle of the call from Ludwig. He'd gone out into the deserted hallway in order to prevent Alfred from overhearing what he had to say. "All I am saying is that I have come across evidence that needs to be considered in this case," he snapped, "And besides that, he's giving me any information I ask for and even volunteering information. "

"Good behavior does not excuse a lifetime of murder," Ludwig responded evenly.

Arthur barely suppressed a growl, "There was nothing he could do to stop it."

There was a heavy sigh on the other end of the phone, a clear warning that Arthur ought to quit while he was ahead, "I vill remove him from you care if you do not stop this, Kirkland."

Arthur tensed, unsure of what to do next. "What about Gilbert?"

Ludwig hesitated and Arthur took it as a good sign: Ludwig didn't hesitate. "Vhat are you talking about?"

Arthur smirked, knowing that he finally had the upper hand, "I'm not a fool and neither are you. How else would he know so much about Winter?"

"You are venturing into dangerous vaters, Kirkland," Ludwig growled, "You can't bribe me."

"I'm not," Arthur quickly corrected, "I'm reminding you."

There was another heavy sigh on Ludwig's end of the line, "Fine. I vill see vhat I can do. Don't expect any more favors from me."

Arthur nearly laughed as the knot of anxiety slowly unwound from his stomach, "Trust me; I have no need to."

Alfred was a bit surprised when Arthur came back into the room, as close to beaming as he'd ever been. "Uh… you feeling alright?" he asked, unsure of what to make of the situation.

The cheerful expression dissolved into a sly one that reminded Alfred of a fox. Once again, he was left off balance by Arthur's disposition. "You're an excellent fighter. But I wonder just how good you are with a gun," the Brit mused aloud.

Alfred's spine stiffened. What kind of question was that to ask an ex-assassin? "Good enough. Why?" he responded shortly, shifting uncomfortably with the question.

Arthur sighed, his sly expression slowly fading to recognition. Alfred's heart nearly skipped a beat: Arthur had forgotten. How in the world he'd managed to forget that Alfred was skilled enough with a gun to kill countless people, he didn't know. Frankly, he didn't care. He was just elated by the fact that he had. "I need to know your strengths and weaknesses in case we get into another battle with Winter, and I image the same is true of you for me," Arthur explained.

Alfred took a minute to process the explanation before he nodded, a nervous feeling twisting in his gut. He didn't want to feel the cold metal of a gun pressed in his hand again, but Arthur had a point; to be useful in battle with one another, they needed to know where each other's strengths and weaknesses were.

"Come along, git," Arthur instructed before heading towards the door.

They ended up at a shooting range. Alfred sighed heavily when Arthur parked and the Brit examined him in the passenger seat, "You don't have to, you know."

Alfred shrugged, "Nah, I'll be happy to show you up, old man."

Arthur scowled at him, any sympathy he'd previously seen gone. He climbed out of the car and Alfred followed, feeling a bit better. Arthur led him to the building where they checked in. They went down to a lane and Arthur passed the gun off to the America, "Youth before skill."

Alfred grinned and familiarly gripped the gun in his hand, "Just make sure to pick your jaw up off the ground when I'm done. Wouldn't wanna leave it behind."

Arthur ignored him and waited as Alfred quickly set up his stance, looked down the sights of the pistol to focus on the tiny red dot, and fired three quick rounds. The grouping was tight but shifted just to the left. It wasn't enough to really matter were it a life-and-death situation, but Arthur's grin was smug. "You're off, git," he pointed out.

Alfred raised a brow, thoroughly entertained, "Oh yeah? Just try to outdo that."

Arthur's smug expression didn't wane. Instead, he skillfully slipped into the familiar stance and rattled off three shots. Alfred squinted behind his glasses to see the target. When he did, he vaguely made a note not to forget to collect his jaw off the ground. The three holes in the paper where touching one another, dead center in the middle of the target. "You cheated!" Alfred teased.

Arthur's smug expression fell into a frown, "What are you talking about, git? How could I cheat?"

"Dude, that's pretty cool," he admitted, "But you still can beat me in a fight."

Arthur's frown deepened, "Didn't anyone tell you that you ought to bring a gun to a gunfight?"

This time, it was Alfred whose confidence didn't waver, "Yeah. If you were more than a few feet away, I'd be a dead man. But at this distance, I'd totally win."

"Is that so?" Arthur asked, an amused smirk tugging at the edges of his lips.

Alfred nodded and took a step closer, leaving little distance between the pair. "Yeah, that's so," he teased, "I could show you, if ya want."

Arthur looked up at the small height difference. Alfred could see the internal debate wasn't going to last long. They could use all of the skills they had to spare. "I suppose you could," Arthur finally agreed, "When we get back, of course."

Alfred nodded in agreement. They spent the rest of the hour firing off shots at the target. Alfred didn't even bother to keep up with points.

The first lesson occurred after dinner when they returned to the hotel room. Alfred was a bit surprised when Arthur brought it up, demanding that the American make good on his word. Alfred managed a nod before the pair cleared out a spot big enough to give them ample space. "What now?" Arthur asked as they face each other.

Alfred grinned confidently, "Try and hit me."

Arthur tilted his head a bit, "You want me to hit you?"

Alfred nodded vigorously, "Yeah. Come on. Try me."

Arthur shrugged. If Alfred really wanted him to, who was he to deny him? He quickly closed the gap between them and threw a punch. A strong hand immediately latched onto his fist, stopping him as surely as if he'd punched a brick wall. Alfred's innocent grin widened, "You're gonna have to try harder than that."

Scowling, Arthur became serious. He lifted his leg to throw out a kick to distance himself from Alfred. Unfortunately, the taller blonde simply deflected the blow with his free arm. Alright, if Alfred wanted serious, he was about to get it.

Arthur twisted his arm to free his hand from Alfred's grip before swiftly launching another punch aimed at the taller man's gut. Alfred stepped off to the side, grabbed hold of the Brit's arm like a wrench, and stepped behind him, lightly pulling on the appendage. Not bothering to wait, Arthur shoved his free elbow back to strike out at the American. He smirked when he felt the toned muscles of Alfred's stomach.

Alfred laughed and let go, "Not too bad, but I've got some trick for you to learn." He stepped around to face Arthur and gently reached out to press his index finger against the Brit's cheek.

"You bloody git, I—" Arthur froze when he felt the gentle nudge of a closed fist against his stomach.

"Lesson one: don't fight fair," Alfred announced, chuckling all the while, "Honor doesn't do you much good if you're dead, and Winter's people aren't gonna wait around for you to figure that out."

Needless to say, Alfred's lessons were taught mostly through example.

Their lesson was cut off by a phone call from Ludwig an hour later. Arthur answered the phone, still huffing from the exercise he'd just been doing. "Yes?" he greeted.

Alfred stood off to the side, watching Arthur with a smile. The Brit was a fast learner and seemed to be able to pick things up either the first or second time he saw them. Contrary to his complaints, he seemed to listen to Alfred's instruction and keep it in mind. The American had to admit that he wasn't a bad fighter to begin with, but he simply didn't know what he was dealing with as far as Winter's students went.

Arthur ended the conversation with a hint of a scowl. "What's up?" Alfred asked, eyeing the Brit. He had changed into a simple t-shirt and loose pants in order to move properly and a thin veil of sweat covered his forehead. Alfred probably wasn't fairing much better. There was a hint of red still touching his pale cheeks.

"Ludwig has something he wants us to look into while we're here," Arthur answered, "Apparently it's rather big."

Alfred nodded, "Sounds good. Finally, some real action!"

Arthur raised a large brow, "What's been happening the past few days doesn't count as action to you?"

"Learn to take a joke, Artie," Alfred teased, reaching out to ruffle the shorter blonde's hair, "When are we leaving?"

"Tonight," Arthur answered. There was a strange sense of finality to that statement that Alfred wasn't sure he liked…

The building was old and abandoned. It sat out on the edge of a town roughly thirty minutes from the city and seemed to have fallen into disrepair. Some of the wooden planks had been weathered away, leaving a few small gaps in the walls and a portion of the roof was caved in.

"Have you been here before?" Arthur asked as they both surveyed the building.

Alfred shook his head, "No, Winter didn't let any of us go back to our birth countries; he was afraid somebody would recognize us."

Arthur nodded without taking his emerald eyes from the building. Something about it was… off, and both of them could feel it.

Alfred was the first to leave the car. Arthur followed right after him, and the two approached the building. "Artie, there's no one here," Alfred pointed out as he looked around. That alone was strange. Then there was the fact that Alfred couldn't seem to spot any of Winter's usual traps. The either meant that the building was a false lead, it was abandoned, or there was something nasty waiting inside…

"Come on, git," Arthur finally instructed before he glanced back over his shoulder, "Just… be careful."

Alfred nodded and quickly set a pace next to Arthur, "You, too." Arthur gave a nod as they reached the door.

Both sets of eyes inspected the weathered and graffiti-ridden wood. There didn't seem to even be a lock on it. Alfred decided to take the initiative and press his fingertips against it before Arthur did. Both men waited on some sort of monster to jump out and say "boo." When that didn't happen, and the door simply swung back to reveal a bare and empty room, they were both surprised.

Every sense in Alfred told him it was a trap, and he was quick to relay that information to Arthur. "Then we'll simply be careful," Arthur responded, entering the building while pulling out his pistol. Alfred quickly followed, refusing to leave the Englishman alone inside the building.

Blue eyes scanned the walls for any sign of a trap. He was halfway finished when a warm hand firmly gripped his shoulder. He looked down to see that Arthur was a bit paler than usual. Alfred followed his green eyes and felt his heart skip a beat.

In the unmistakable color of dried blood, there was a single message scrawled across the wall: "Welcome home, Jones."

"Artie…" Alfred started, instantly recognizing the neat swirls of letters, "You need to go. Now."

The hand on his shoulder tightened, "No."

Alfred finally tore his eyes from the message to glare down at Arthur. He nearly faltered when he saw the concern in those green eyes. No one besides his brother had even been concerned for him. He sighed lightly, "We need to go, then."

Arthur let go with a scowl before inspecting the blood, "It's old, Alfred. Days. Whoever left this is likely gone by now."

Alfred bit at his lip, "Fine. Ten minutes and I'm dragging you outta here. Got it?" Arthur nodded in agreement before he began his search around the bare room.

There was a lone door that traveled down a long hall. Alfred nearly cursed when Arthur decided to check it out. "Keep that gun close," he warned quietly as they made their way through the hall. It seemed as though it were something out of a dream: impossibly long covered in pealing, tacky wallpaper, and baring aged and uncared for pictures. Alfred felt his heart thumbing against his ribs, but it wasn't his own safety he was concerned about; it was Arthur's.

When they reached the door, he nearly feared that the organ would explode in his chest.

Alfred held a finger up to his lips, glancing around the corner of the door after a moment's hesitation. Arthur waited, holding the cold metal of the gun in his hands. Last time, he hadn't had a weapon. This time, things were different. He may not have been able to outdo Alfred in a fist fight, but their earlier competition told him that he could outshoot the taller blonde.

Seeing that the coast was clear, Alfred nodded, heading into the next room with nearly silent steps. Arthur followed after him, looking around at the impressive computer set up. Ludwig had been right: whatever was hidden inside that computer was obvious something big.

Alfred suspected that it would be the key to trying up all of the seemingly random occurrences that had been popping up since the day Winter failed to kill him.

He walked up to the set up that took up nearly an entire wall of what looked to have once been a small bedroom. The fact that there was still no one around combined with the message from earlier, let him unnerved and cautious. He tapped a key on the keyboard before drawing his hand back as though he'd touched poison.

The middle of three screens came alight with several different files all scattered across the display. Alfred felt his eyes widening without his permission as he scanned the words on the screens. "Arthur…" he called before he even realized he had.

"What no—W-What is that…?" Arthur sputtered from Alfred's left.

"Call Ludwig," Alfred instructed without tearing his eyes from the map on the screen. For once, his voice held no cheer, no happy inflection, no emotion at all really; he was too numb from the shock.

Click. "I wouldn't be doing that just yet, Mr. Kirkland."

Alfred's spine stiffened and his posture went ridged as the blood in his veins froze and turned to ice. The cold muzzle of the barrel pressed lightly to the back of his head. Mentally, he sighed in relief that it wasn't Arthur Winter was pointing the gun to.

"What do you want?" Arthur growled, turning completely to face the assassin.

"Arthur, stop," Alfred instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"It's a fair question, Jones," Winter chuckled, "As much as I would love to kill you, it's not quite time yet."

Alfred bit his lip, seething with anger, "I'll stop you if it kills me."

Winter laughed a thin, rasping noise, "I would watch out what I wished for, Jones. Now. If you will excuse me, Yao will be here any moment, and I have business to attend to. Ah, and I suppose I should make sure you two don't follow me."

The second the barrel was gone from the back of Alfred's head, there was a shot. Alfred paled, frozen and unable to turn his head to the left to see what had happened. Three more shots rang out from a different, closer angle. When he heard the hiss and the thud, his body finally responded.

Arthur held his side, drawing breaths in short pants. Alfred collapsed next to him and inspected the bleeding wound. It was bad. A sound somewhere between a gasp and a chock slipped from Alfred's lips.

Arthur hissed softly, pressing his hand to the wound, blood dripping from in-between his fingers. Alfred's mind latched onto the piece of information he'd overlooked before: Winter said that Yao was coming. He drew the smaller blonde into his arms and pressed against the wound, making sure there was cloth between his fingers and the torn flesh. Arthur was trembling.

"I think… I hit him," the Brit murmured in a shaky voice.

Alfred didn't respond. All he could think about was how, of all the blood on his hands, Arthur's felt the most like a toxin. Almost as though it had seeping into his skin, forever branding him for what he was even if he hadn't been the one to fire the shot.

"Git?" the call was soft, almost steady, "Alfred…?"

"Yao 's coming," Alfred responded quickly, tucking the head of blonde hair under his chin, "Yao 's coming. It's gonna be fine. It'll be fine."

There was a soft, shaky chuckle as hazy emerald eyes locked with frantic blue, "Bloody git… Of course I'll be fine. You're a hero… after all."

Alfred bit down hard on his lip and clung to the slim, shivering blonde, his heart shattering. He was numb. There was nothing in the world but himself and the shivering English detective. He wanted to scream, to shout, anything. Instead, his voice came out soft and rushed. Anything to keep Arthur awake. Anything to keep him alive.

Several minutes later, when Yao and Ivan rushed into the room, weapons drawn and ready to fire, they found the two blondes still in the floor, Alfred whispering panicked comforts to an unconscious Arthur.

T.T Once again, I am so sorry this is so late. Please forgive me… T.T Anyway… I can't exactly give away the next chapter since this is a cliff hanger… But I'll go ahead and tell you that Alfred will reveal what they found on the computer in the next chapter! XP But I can assure you that it won't take as long as if did before to get the next chapter out. And, one more time, I'm so sorry!