DISCLAIMER: Hetalia: Axis Powers – Hidekaz Himaruya

BIRDSONG

TWELVE

ALFRED

It sure rains a lot here," Al noted as he handed Matt a wooden spoon.

Both of their Magnus had cancelled afternoon training because of bad weather. Outside, cold rain lashed against the window and the wind howled. Arthur could have relocated Al to the gymnasium for exercise, but it was quite crowded since everyone was indoors, and Arthur was paranoid about people watching them train. Al suggested that they go to the pool instead—"you can ogle my half-naked body, Artie!"—but Berwald had already requested that nobody bothered he and Tino. Al, who didn't know what Tino's magic specialty was (something to do with water, I think) asked Arthur: "Why do they have to be alone? Just what's going on in there?" Arthur, ignoring Al's innuendos, shrugged and said: "I have absolutely no idea," and continued to read. Al, who was bored, had then wandered upstairs to visit Matt and, finding his brother equally as bored, decided that they should bake cookies.

"I never thought it would rain so much in the mountains," Al sighed, opening the refrigerator. "Maybe it's a seasonal thing. And you're out of eggs, by the way."

"Then go to the kitchen and get some," said Matt, stirring dry ingredients together. Al tried not to patronize his brother's technique, but his tongue worked faster than his brain and he took a jab at Matt. "Just go," Matt swatted at him in annoyance.

"All the way downstairs?" Al whined. In exaggeration, he pouted.

Matt bit his lip, trying to maintain a stern expression, but he couldn't hold back a smile when Al leant close, nearly nose-to-nose. "Al, don't be such a baby," he laughed. Al batted his eyelashes helplessly, and Matt rolled his eyes. Relenting, he said: "Fine. Go next-door and ask if Yao and Kiku have any eggs we can borrow."

"Aye, aye!" Al saluted and waltzed out.

Yao and Kiku were the only people besides Francis and Matt who lived on the ninth floor, which meant that the two apartments were fairly spread apart. Lucky, Al envied the layout. He hated that his apartment shared a wall with Antonio and Lovino's. It's not that they were bad neighbours exactly, but they were both kind of—ahem—loud. "Passionate" is the word Francis had used when Al had been complaining one day. "That's fine," Al had replied, "but how hard is it to bite a pillow, huh?" Of course, it didn't help that—as young and passionate as he, himself, was—whenever Al got excited the electricity went haywire and scared Lovino (who was afraid of the dark). The Italian's timing was impeccable: too consecutive to be a coincidence, Al thought. Lovino started banging on the wall just as Al reached climax. Every. Single. Time. Al started to call it "revenge".

Al reached Yao and Kiku's apartment and lightly rapped his knuckles on the door. He waited a few seconds and then tried again. Nothing. He sighed in resignation, readying to make the arduous journey down to the fifth floor kitchen, when he heard the faint sound of voices from within. "Hey, Yao?" Al called. Inside, someone cried-out.

Disregarding politeness, Al pushed the door open and rushed inside, thinking that he would find a scene of distress. He had barely made it past the entrance, however, when he stopped abruptly.

Kiku was lying half-naked on his back on the settee with his legs wrapped around a man's waist. It was not Yao, as Al would have guessed, but the handsome Greek, Heracles. His tawny head was bowed against the Japanese's slender neck, and the muscles in his back rippled as he slipped a hand through Kiku's ink-black hair; his other hand was concealed inside Kiku's robe. The Japanese's face was flushed. His eyes were squeezed shut, but his lips were parted, emitting a soft, strangled cry of pleasure—not distress. Heracles was whispering in Greek, but when Kiku opened his eyes in reply, he spotted Al.

"Ah—A-Al!" he choked, going white in shock. His fingers clenched Heracles' shoulders, urging him to stop.

"I-I-I— I-m sorry!" Al gasped in apology. "I didn't—I thought—I'm going now!"

He retreated fast, pulling the door closed behind him, and then power-walked back to Matt's apartment. By the time he arrived, his face was beet-red in embarrassment.

"What happened to you?" Matt asked. "Didn't Yao and Kiku have any eggs—gah!"

Al grabbed the wooden spoon from Matt and set it aside. "No, no eggs. What I did see was Kiku and Heracles going at it on the living-room couch."

Matt blinked, taken off-guard. "Eh? Really? Are you sure that's what it was?" he asked in recovery.

Al nodded. "Oh, yeah. Definitely. It was, like, pretty hot."

Matt pursed his lips, trying not to grin. "Do you think Yao knows?"

"Knows what?" asked Francis, walking in with Gilbert. The German smiled when he spotted the twins standing close together in secret.

"Uh, well, just that—"

"Heracles is fucking Kiku," said Al indelicately. He grinned, expecting the gossip to shock the two Magnus—Kiku had certainly looked shocked—but they merely exchanged a glance, and Francis said:

"Oh, that. Yes, Yao knows. Actually," he glanced at Gilbert for confirmation, "I think most of the Birdcage knows. Despite his ninja-skills," he quoted Al, "Kiku is pretty clumsy when it comes to romance. He's not nearly as subtle as he tries to be. It's kind of adorable. Heracles, of course, doesn't care who knows."

"And neither does Yao?" Al guessed. "I thought he and Kiku were like, you know—?"

"Yao and Kiku, a couple?" Gilbert laughed.

"No, no," Francis shook his head to dispel the misconception. "They're bonded, but not all bonded pairs are couples." Inadvertently, he glanced at Matt, who blushed and looked elsewhere. Al and Gilbert politely pretended not to notice. Francis continued: "Yao and Kiku aren't romantically involved. They love each other, of course, but it's more like brothers who have been stuck together. They actually bicker a lot and don't spend much free time together."

"Really?" Al was surprised. "I always see them together."

"They train a lot," Gilbert shrugged.

The topic of conversation shifted from Kiku's love life to other gossip, and Al soon found himself re-enacting his previous mission to find eggs. Gilbert smirked, and said: "There are a lot of couples from here to the fifth floor, Al. Bet you can't find another quickie to interrupt," but Al ignored him. He spent the rest of the afternoon with Matt, Francis, and Gilbert, who never seemed to have anywhere to be, before he headed back to the seventh floor. Arthur looked as if he hadn't moved since Al left. He was still curled up in the armchair with a book in his lap, a cold cuppa tea at his side. He was tapping a pen against his lips, eyes scouring the page; the notebook beside him was covered in his small, neat handwriting.

"You're such a nerd," Al said in greeting.

Arthur grunted in acknowledgement, but didn't otherwise respond. He wrote a note.

Al stretched and fell languidly onto the bed. "Bet you were a teacher's pet in high-school, weren't you, Artie?"

"No. I went to private-school," he replied absently.

"Of course you did." Al rolled his eyes. He flipped onto his back and stared at the ceiling for a moment. Then he said: "I caught Kiku and Heracles having sex today."

"Hmm, did you?" Arthur asked, disinterested. "In the conservatory or the archive?"

"Kiku's apartment."

"Ah. That's a bit conventional for them."

Having witnessed Kiku's flushed face—which had been kind of, maybe, totally arousing—Al made a mental note never to enter the conservatory or the archive without first knocking very loudly. In comparison, he thought of Arthur's flushed face. He loved those pink-tinged cheeks and every single pale freckle. Arthur hated his freckles, but as Al worked his way down the Englishman's trembling body, kissing every (im)perfection, the boy would whisper: "I love them. I love you," and Arthur would cease all his complaints. Unexpectedly, the happy memory made Al consider something sad.

"Hey, Artie?" he asked conversationally. "Does Yao have anyone?"

"Why? Sick of me already? Looking to trade me in, are you?"

"Yeah, definitely." Al grinned at his Magnus. "I bet he wouldn't make me train half as hard as you do."

Arthur snorted. "Sorry, love, but Yao would make you train twice as hard. Anyway," he closed his book, "why the sudden interest in Yao?"

Al shrugged. "No reason. It's just, uh..." He paused, embarrassed by the sudden depth of the topic. He tried to disregard it, but Arthur was intrigued by the boy's shyness and prodded. "Yao's been here longer than anyone else, right? Since he was a child?" he said hesitantly. "It's just kind of sad to think that, maybe, he's never been in love."

To Al's surprise—and embarrassment—Arthur chuckled. "You're so sentimental, Alfred," he said, joining Al on the bed. He brushed his knuckles over the boy's forehead. "I never would have guessed."

Al frowned. "Oh, fuck-off," he said, rolling over onto Arthur's lap. He rested his head there, letting Arthur toy with his hair, fingers combing it back. It felt good.

"Yao did have someone. I think."

"Did?" Al asked in surprise. "He or she died?"

Arthur's hand rested atop Al's head. "We don't really know what happened to him. One day he was just gone. He was like Francis and I, he was a Magnus who couldn't bond with a Magi so the Doctor took him. He might be dead; he might not be. We don't know and the Doctor won't tell."

"How long ago did he disappear?"

"Twenty-three months," Arthur answered. "His name was Ivan," he added after a pause. "None of us realized how close he and Yao were until after he was already gone. We were all surprised by Ivan's sudden disappearance, of course, but Yao took it the hardest. He didn't really show it. The newer recruits didn't even notice he was hurting, but those of us who had known him for a few years noticed a distinct change. Yao became really quiet and he spent all of his free time alone. It was several months before he was back to normal-ish. It's hard to describe," Arthur said. "Yao never said anything about Ivan, but his demeanour changed after his disappearance. We kind of suspected that there had been something going on between them.

"Ivan was quite a bit younger than Yao, I think. It's hard to tell with Yao; he looks so young. I used to think it was foolish. I wondered how he could have fallen for someone so much younger..." Arthur blushed and coyly lowered his eyes. "I don't wonder that anymore."

Al smiled. "How long had Ivan been without a Magi?" he asked.

"Ivan was brought here two years before I was, so it had been seven years when he was taken. I guess that's the limit of the Doctor's patience: seven years. Especially since Francis and I... well, we both came dangerously close to sharing Ivan's fate. It's because of you and Matthew that we were spared."

"I'm glad you were," Al said, reaching behind him. He took Arthur's hands, encouraging the Magnus to wrap his arms around him, which Arthur did. "Cause I'm not letting you go, Artie. Don't worry," he teased, looking up, "I'll protect you from the big, bad Doctor."

"Hmm? My hero," Arthur smirked sarcastically. He met Al's upside-down lips and kissed him. And when he did, it tasted like chocolate cookies.

ARTHUR

It was late. Arthur was reading in bed with Al asleep beside him. It was two o'clock in the morning. The boy's paper-soft snores were peaceful and his body-heat warmed the bed. The nights were cold now that summer had faded into autumn, but Arthur was never uncomfortable sleeping with Al. He didn't have to layer blankets on top of himself, like Francis did. I guess that's the downside of having a Magi who's specialty is ice. Francis had confessed to Arthur that Matt suffered from nightmares. It's a good thing that they're bonded, Arthur thought, otherwise Francis would be a French popsicle. At least when Alfred has nightmares it gets warmer, not colder. He looked down at Al, who seemed to be dreaming: the boy's eyelids fluttered. Tenderly, Arthur touched his cheek and Al smiled.

"I love you so much," Arthur whispered in secret.

He left the bed to make tea. He wasn't the least bit tired and he wanted to finish reading the book that he had borrowed from the archive. He didn't bother turning the overhead lights on because the moonlight was bright enough to see by. He leant against the counter in a ribbon of silver moonlight as the kettle steamed. He let his mind wander as he waited for it to boil, thinking of Al and Al's concern for Yao's happiness. He's nosy, but—most of the time—it's only because he genuinely cares about people. It reminded him of Al's earlier query about being sold: What are the chances that the same buyer will take Matt and Francis, too? Almost zero, Arthur had replied, which was the truth. But just for a moment Arthur hoped that he was wrong. Sure, it would mean being stuck with Francis forever, but if it meant Al would be happy, Arthur thought it a small price to pay. Don't even pretend like you wouldn't miss Francis... he's your best friend, Al had scolded; Arthur smiled now. Yes, he admitted. He pictured the foursome in his mind. The foursome that he, Arthur Kirkland, now belonged to. Friends should stick together.

At least, he thought, collecting a teacup, I'll always have Alfred.

The kettle whistled just as the Doctor's men burst in through the door. There were six of them wearing black, magic-resistant armour and holding high-calibre weapons that glowed blue. They slipped inside like a SWAT team, fanning out in a triangular formation. Arthur had seen it before; it was a precaution only. They had not expected him to be awake. Taken off-guard, Arthur dropped the teacup and it shattered. It alerted the men to his presence. They aimed their weapons at him, but stopped when they recognized the Magnus and resumed their hunt. They advanced on the bedroom, weapons ready.

"Oi—stop it!" said Arthur in recovery. "Stop! What are you doing?" He rushed to the bedroom door, fighting the guards, trying to shoulder them aside, which failed. "Stop it now!"

"Artie, wha—aah!"

One of the guards fired his weapon and a blast of pale-blue light hit Al's chest like a high-powered taser. The boy's body fell back on the bed and jerked involuntarily; his back arched and his mouth fell open in a silent scream of pain. Then he stilled, paralysed, and fell unconscious. The instant he did, two of the guards were on top of him. One unnecessarily pinned Al to the bed, shoving a knee into the boy's back, as if he thought Al would suddenly jump up, while the other fastened iron handcuffs to his wrists.

"What the fuck are you doing? Stop it! Get the fuck off him!" Arthur shouted. He beat his fists on the guards, bruising his hands on their armour. "Who the fuck gave you permission to—"

Finally, one of the guards got annoyed and shoved the Englishman effortlessly back, like a pest. Arthur's legs hit the coffee-table and he fell clumsily back, but he leapt back up ready for a fight. "Alfred!" he yelled as the guards lifted Al's body. Arthur tried to draw forth as much energy as possible and channel it toward Al to wake him up, but he stopped when the boy suddenly gasped in pain. He squeezed his eyes shut, moaning weakly. The handcuffs! Arthur realized. He stopped immediately. It doesn't matter how much energy I channel to him because he can't release it. The pressure is only building inside of him, hurting him. Oh, God—Alfred!

In a last attempt to rescue Al, Arthur grabbed a lamp and broke it over a guard's head. The man buckled and dropped Al's legs, but before Arthur could act, a big-boned guard grabbed him roughly from behind. The furious Magnus trashed wildly, yelling for help—someone please hear me!—but the guard restrained him while another took a needle and stuck it into Arthur's neck. He was injected with a drug, which felt hot. Immediately, the Englishman felt his body shutting down, growing weak. A tranquilizer.

"Go to sleep," said the guard. He dropped Arthur, who landed hard on the floor.

"No... please don't..." he gasped. He crawled to his knees; stumbled; fell. His blinked, but his vision had gone fuzzy. He couldn't see faces, only shapes as the guards carried Al out the door. "No..." Arthur begged. The strength left his muscles and he fell to his stomach. The world spun violently; it fell sideways. Desperately, he reached out.

"Please... don't take my Alfred..."

MATTHEW

Mathieu! Mathieu, chéri, wake up!"

Matt woke abruptly, pulled from a pleasant dream that he instantly forgot. Francis was shaking him roughly.

"Get up—hurry!" he urged, dragging the boy out of bed.

Matt stumbled, pulling his t-shirt down to meet his boxer-shorts. Groggily, he let Francis lead him into the lounge. "Mm? What's"—yawn—"wrong? It's like"—yawn—"two in the morning. Francis—?"

"Quiet, chéri." Francis' sapphire-blue eyes seemed to glow in the bright moonlight. He looked panicked, like he had on the night of the bonding. It worried Matt. "I felt something... something that's not right," he whispered, as if he was afraid the walls would hear. He spoke quickly as he dragged Matt back-and-forth across the room in his panic, searching for—What? Matt thought. What's going on? Francis said: "Ever since we were bonded I can feel when the guards use their weapons. I don't know how; it's like a tiny pinch. The blasts are meant to neutralize magic-users, to tranquilize us. It must have something to do with the formula of the chemical itself, it freezes a magic-user's nerves." He stopped at the window and glanced out, shielding Matt from view. "I have a bad feeling about tonight, a very bad feeling, Mathieu."

Matt started to speak, to question and reassure Francis, but the Frenchman suddenly pressed a hand to the boy's lips. That's when Matt heard it: metal footsteps. They sounded loud in the silence of the ninth floor.

"Francis?" he said against Francis' hand.

Without warning, Francis shoved Matt into the washroom. "Barricade the door," he ordered. Matt tried to protest, but Francis snapped: "Just do it! And don't open it no matter what. Trust me, Mathieu. Please." He smiled at Matt and then closed the door.

Seconds later, Matt heard a commotion as several of the Doctor's guards forced their way into the apartment. Confused and feeling scared, Matt did as he was told. As ice covered the door, reinforcing it, he worried about Francis, whose angry voice he could hear through the thin walls. What's going on? What will they do to him? It was a horrible feeling, the waiting. A bead of sweat froze on his temple. His heart was pounding and he kept his frosted hands braced against the door. The ice began to creep over the walls, but Matt hesitated. The voices grew louder.

"I told you, he's not here!" Francis snapped. Matt had never heard him sound so aggressive. His airy, sinuous voice had become a defensive growl.

"Stand aside," said a short-tempered guard. He wasn't buying Francis' lie. "Remove yourself now, Magnus, or"—click—"we'll remove you. You're not needed now that your Magi's powers have been awakened by the bonding. Doctor's orders. Now that you've trained the boy, you're expendable, so I wouldn't push my luck if I were you."

Matt's blood went cold. Francis!

"I'll ask you once more," said the guard shortly. "Stand aside."

Matt hoped that Francis would comply to save himself, but bravely the Frenchman spat: "Go fuck yourself!"

The guard struck him and Francis cried-out in pain. It cut Matt deeply; his hands clenched. "No, no, no!" he panicked as a struggle ensued.

Someone said: "Just tranquilize him, it's easier."

"Nah, this is more fun. I've been wanting to take a swing at these arrogant bastards for a long time."

A surge of ice-cold anger washed over Matt as he listened to them beating his Magnus. Nothing but Francis' order—his trusting smile—kept Matt from breaking through the door. He felt compelled to defend Francis, but logic held him back. If I do, he won't thank me. He'll be furious at me for disobeying. He shoved me in here to protect me from them. He cringed when Francis' body hit the floor. Please get up, Francis! Please be okay! The door shook as the guards open-fired at it. Matt tried to hold the barricade, but he could feel Francis' consciousness slipping away, which worried him, angered him, and left his magic unstable. He could feel himself shaking as the wall began to spider-web under the gunfire and physical force. Matt tried to think. He tried to think of a way out of this, but he was scared. His heart was pounding, preoccupied with Francis' well-being. His magic seized and, without Francis able to moderate it, it exploded in a sudden gale. The barricade shattered, taking down the whole wall, which had been weakened by ice and gunfire. Several guards were thrown back before a pale-blue light hit Matt in the chest, sending a searing shock of pain throughout his body, shutting down every nerve as Francis had described. He fell, paralyzed, right into a guard's outstretched arms. Matt tried to fight the paralysis, but his eyesight was going dark; his joints were numb; his head felt fuzzy. Vaguely, he felt them handcuff his wrists; vaguely, he heard a guard's voice as he issued orders; vaguely, as he was lifted and carried out of the apartment, he saw Francis' body lying on the floor. There were bruises on the Frenchman's face and blood on his lips: his lovely, velvety lips—

"No, please..." Matt whispered. And blacked-out.

ARTHUR

Arthur—? Can you hear me? Hey, don't touch him, chiquito."

"He looks like shit. Is he injured?"

"No, I don't think so. He's just out-cold. He's been drugged, see?"

"Fuck! It's that goddamned Doctor, that bastard!"

"Hush, Lovi. Not so loud, or else—Oh! Arthur, you're awake. Are you okay?"

Arthur squeezed his eyes before opening them, blinded by a bright light. He blinked groggily, looking up into Antonio's green-eyed face. "Wha—" cough couch "—what happened?" he wheezed. His throat felt dry, like sandpaper. He tried to rise, but his muscles lacked strength; his body was weak and wobbled. Lovino caught his shoulders from behind and held him upright. "Ow—!" His head was pounding.

"We heard you screaming," said Antonio. "You've been out for half-an-hour."

"We found you on the floor," Lovino said. "Alone. Where's Al?"

Alfred! Arthur's eyes flew open in panic. "They took him!" he gasped. "The guards came in and they—they—they fucking took him! They attacked him and—Ah! Fuck!" Arthur's body ached. Roughly, he shouldered off Lovino's hands and tried to stand. It failed. He clenched the countertop and, trembling, his legs feeling like jelly, made it to the kitchenette before he vomited in the sink. Then he fell to his knees.

"God, Arthur, slow down," Antonio warned. "You're going to hurt yourself."

The Spaniard grabbed a dry tea-towel and held it out, but when Arthur ignored it he knelt down and took the liberty of wiping the sweat and drool off the Englishman's pale face. Antonio's touch was comforting, like a brother's, but Arthur barely registered it. Finally, Antonio sighed. "Lovi," he said to the Italian, who was standing awkwardly by, "get the door, chiquito. I'm taking Arthur to the infirmary—"

"No—" cough cough —"not the infirmary," Arthur wheezed. He clutched Antonio's shirt-front tightly. "Take me to Francis."

Matthew's gone, isn't he?" Arthur asked in greeting. Even if the ninth floor apartment hadn't been destroyed, he could have guessed at Matt's absence by the forlorn look on Francis' face. The Frenchman was sitting quietly on the settee with his head in his hands. He looked desolate. His ash-blonde curls hung messily, framing a wide-eyed, bruised face with a split lip. Kiku was sitting awkwardly beside him, hands folded in his lap, like he didn't know whether he should lend comfort or keep quiet. Yao was standing by the window and staring out vacantly. When nobody acknowledged Arthur's question, Kiku cleared his throat and said:

"Yes, Matthew's gone."

"Fuck."

"Francis?" said Antonio. He deposited Arthur on the settee beside Francis, forcing Kiku to get up (which the Japanese man didn't seem to mind). The Spaniard took a seat on the coffee-table across from his foster-brother. "Are you okay?" he asked in concern. Lovino stood close behind Antonio, clinging to his shirtsleeve. Antonio reached back and took the Magi's hand, as if he was afraid that Lovino would be taken next.

"He's gone," Francis repeated needlessly, quietly. "My Mathieu is gone. They took him from me. They took him away. And Alfred—?" He glanced sideways. Arthur nodded in confirmation. "Oh, God."

"It doesn't make any sense." Arthur shook his head. He was aware of his audience, but he didn't care. He was thinking out-loud. He had to keep thinking, otherwise he would breakdown. "Alfred and Matthew are gifted Magi. They're both incredibly valuable assets, but not alone. They can't be sold without us. We're partners. They both have a Magnus. They're both bonded Magis," he said, as if he were saying: They're both married men. "So, why would the Doctor take them without warning? Why would he take them at all? They're both strong; both in perfect health. There is absolutely nothing wrong with them. And he can't use them without Francis and I, can he?"

He glanced from face-to-face, seeking a reply. Antonio shrugged helplessly, and said: "I don't know."

"Then why?" Francis begged. Kiku flinched. "Why my Mathieu?" Miserably, he covered his face.

"Why did he take the twins?" said Yao quietly; sharply. His quiet voice surprised Arthur. The Chinaman was stiff, but as he turned slowly to face them his dark eyes flashed dangerously. In that instant he looked dangerous. But his voice was sad:

"Why did he take Ivan?"