The night of the hunter

Chapter thirteen

"I see."

Kiku was shivering slightly of cold; the wind was particularly chilling that day. Arthur, too, tried to wrap his black coat even more tightly around himself, both to protect himself against the cold and to find his hands something to do in the awkward situation. "Yes, I... That's why I can't..." he stuttered and sighed, wishing he was better at handling such delicate situations. "I'm sorry."

"Please, Kirkland-san, don't be; I understand." The Japanese was as polite as always, even rejection couldn't crumble that. It almost made Arthur feel even guiltier, and having no idea of what to say, he just mumbled something and gazed uneasily at Thames.

"It is actually my own fault," Kiku continued, getting the Englishman to look at him again. "I should never have said anything – I'm returning to Japan in a month, anyway. I should never have let Bonnefoy-san's behaviour around you provoke myself."

"Erm," Arthur said.

Kiku turned to him and smiled his careful smile. "I wish you the best happiness with him and great success with your company," he said, happily unaware of the problems Arthur was facing with both Francis and the company. The Englishman returned the smile anyway. "Thank you, Mr. Honda. I wish the same for you."

Kiku bowed and turned to walk away. Arthur watched his retreating back until the wind got him tremble of cold and he started to walk home, too.

Not that he felt like going home. He didn't really know what to do there, how to kill time. Having no work to do, the word "relaxing" had somehow lost its meaning – all he could do was relaxing. Besides, sitting alone in his apartment wasn't as pleasant as it used to be. Arthur had never minded silence before, but after meeting Francis, the peace had turned into hollowness.

Damn that frog, to hell with him! Arthur had done perfectly well without him before, so he could perfectly well do without him now, too. Actually, he already had; four days had passed since the fight and everything was fine, wasn't it? Well, the meeting in the Gilbert's corridor had been awkward, but it was a good beginning.

...Of what? Arthur sighed as he reached his home. If his thinking made so little sense, perhaps he should not even think at all.

But there was still a problem that was yet to be solved: the game. The second part of the game had been supposed to be started on the very following day, but the circumstances being what they were, continuation of the game seemed highly unlikely. Unlikely, and yet just cutting the game was impossible. Arthur's (as well as Francis') pride wouldn't allow him to simply surrender, and it had even been stated in the rules that personal misfortunes wouldn't affect the game. But how to agree on the continuation with the Frenchman, now that was an issue.

Arthur opened the door of his apartment and stepped in when he saw something yellowish on the floor. It was a note, and it took Arthur several seconds to finally kneel down and pick up the piece of paper; lately the letters he had got had had nothing good in them.

Not to break the rule, the new letter appeared to be from Mr. Shireman again. It took all Arthur's willpower not to rip the note, and reluctantly he read the few paragraphs, in which he was asked if he could attend an extra meeting after the lunch time for there was something new to be discussed.

Arthur snorted; despite the polite tone of the letter, it wasn't like he was given any choices. Apparently his word had had no weight even when he still had been in the company, not mentioning now that he didn't belong there anymore. "Bloody hell..." he groaned and rubbed his temples. "What else do they want from me..?" An unpleasant lump started forming in the Englishman's stomach and he sighed. Well, he'd better start preparing himself something to eat before meeting his narrow-minded used-to-be associates again.

And that meeting didn't start any more pleasantly than the previous one; Arthur was sitting at the table with the other four men involved, each looking either grumpy or uneasy. Roderich's mouth formed a tight line, which was a sign that he was furious, Shireman coughed awkwardly and the rest three more or less maintained their composure but showed their disapproval by snorting once in a while. Arthur, for one, felt something between grumpy and nervous, and he still had the unpleasant feeling in his stomach – though he refused to believe that the lunch he had made had anything to do with it.

"So, Mr. Kirkland," Shireman began pragmatically. He looked tired and jaded, but Arthur felt no sympathies for him; didn't Arthur have more reasons to be tired and jaded? "We need to talk about what is happening in this company."

"By all means," Arthur responded nonchalantly. Come what may – things couldn't go much worse anymore. Unless Arthur would be ridiculously unlucky, in which case there was nothing else to do but laugh at his life.

"We shall begin by apologising to you, Mr. Kirkland."

Arthur nearly dropped his jaw and indeed almost laughed. Apologise? Really now? He had been victimised without proper reasons and now, now he was going to be apologised to. Well, it was logical, but something in the situation was too comical.

Shireman looked troubled by his short laughter, and he cleared his throat to continue speaking. "It appears that our little group is – or should I say, was – not as united and good-spirited as some of us expected it to be. You, Mr. Kirkland, have been outrageously misused." The chairman spoke solemnly, but there was an appalled tinge in his voice that was almost funny in all its seriousness.

"I am aware," Arthur said, concentrating back on on the topic. "And may I ask what made you that I was guilty for what I was accused of?"

"Well..." was the uneasy answer, but it wasn't finished by the chairman.

"I gave them false information about Mr. Bonnefoy paying me a visit and delivering the documents," a calm voice spoke, and Arthur turned his face to Roderich, astonished. "What the-" he started, but remembering that he was a gentleman after all and in fine company, corrected himself. "Say what?"

"I am certain you heard me," the Austrian responded, and Arthur wasn't sure if he had merely imagined the even voice cracking slightly. Not that he cared. At that moment, he didn't care at all.

The numb dullness inside the Englishman was rapidly being replaced by growing anger. The feeling of himself being deceived in such two-faced manner made Arthur feel both foolish and enraged, and he stood up so fiercely that his chair nearly fell backwards. His green eyes, sparkling dangerously, were fixed on the arrogant Austrian, who met the stare calmly, even though the emotionless shell was seemingly starting to crumble off his face.

"I demand an explanation!" Arthur spoke sternly. How dare that Austrian, his bloody associate, turn against him like that!

Roderich stood up, too. "Demand? Everything is your fault to begin with."

Something akin to disgust crept on the Austrian's features more and more visibly, and a vague memory of Francis warning Arthur that Roderich hated him flashed in the Englishman's mind. As, surprisingly, thinking of the Frenchman didn't improve Arthur's mood, he decidedly pushed him out of his mind. He only needed one problem at a time.

"Gentlemen," Shireman interrupted, his influential voice affecting both sides. "The reasons why needn't be discussed now and here, please do it afterwards. We shall move on to the consequences."

Slowly turning from the Austrian to the chairman, Arthur took his seat again, Roderich following his example. Shireman continued. "As it has been proved that neither you nor Mr. Bonnefoy are guilty, we apologise for our earlier conclusions."

"How was it proved then?" Arthur asked. "If even my own word was not enough?"

Shireman didn't even blink. "It's not for me to tell. We do not need to go into such details, they are not important." Before Arthur got to protest, the chairman continued. "Anyway, as we don't accept betrayal in this company, we shall no longer have Mr. Edelstein among us, as he already knows. What comes to you, Mr. Kirkland," The chairman paused for a short moment. "nothing will change."

That was something Arthur hadn't expected. "Excuse me?"

So, basically, he had been misused and fired, then apologised to and in the same sentence told that nothing would change! The least his associates could do was to give him his place in the company back – had he not worked loyally with them since the very beginning? He had, so why was he treated in the same way as the traitor?

He also stated that question aloud.

"The answer is obvious," Shireman responded (silence of the other three was starting to annoy Arthur). "I'd like you to remember that if you had been worth our trust, those documents would never have reached Mr. Edelstein without you knowing about it. Also, considering your absence during the last few weeks, we can not regard you as reliable in serious situations."

Arthur was left speechless. He shook his head. "This is ridiculous," he said after a pause. "Aren't you exaggerating a little?"

"We do not believe so, Mr. Kirkland."

So when the meeting ended, the Englishman was in exactly the same situation as before the meeting; the only difference being that now without the reputation of traitor. That part had fallen on Roderich.

Arthur exited the meeting room at the same time with the Austrian, the two of them leaving the remaining three to discuss the future of the company. Arthur was bitter; he had given his input along with the others and now it was all gone with the wind. And the one whose fault his miserable state was, was walking right beside him. The Englishman sent a glare his way. "Now I'd like to hear why you set me up," he said sternly.

Roderich fixed him with a single glance. "You think too highly of yourself if you believe you deserve an explanation," he said. "But I'll give it to you anyway."

Well thank you for your kindness, Arthur thought and rolled his eyes. The Austrian always seemed so cool on the surface, but in reality, he was quite melodramatic.

"You killed her."

The statement caught Arthur off-guarded. "What?"

"You killed Elizaveta," Roderich directed his eyes full of blame at the Englishman. "My fiancé."

Arthur stopped, shocked. Unpleasant surprises seemed to be following him that day. "She was your fiancé?" he asked, disbelieving. Elizaveta had chosen this... this snake to be her companion for life?

"She was." The Austrian didn't say more; his tone explained everything.

For a moment Arthur couldn't think up anything to say, and Roderich continued walking without a glance back. Catching up with him, Arthur said firmly, "I didn't kill her."

Roderich said nothing.

"I didn't kill her," Arthur repeated, as to convince not only the Austrian but himself, too. "The fire was my fault, yes, but it was her own choice to come for me." And it was true. Arthur knew it was. Somehow, with every word, he felt knew confidence bubbling within him. He wasn't lying, right? "She was aware of the dangers. She made her own decision."

"And you made yours."

Arthur shook his head furiously. "She was trapped..."

"That's how you left her there."

"I tried to help her!" Arthur exclaimed. Blood was rushing in his veins, but surprisingly, he wasn't overwhelmed by the guilty sorrow he always was when thinking about those fatal events in his childhood. At least not as much as before. "I couldn't hep her, and he told me to leave... It would have been no use to die there and make her discontented."

Roderich looked at him, eyes filled with hatred and old, deep bitterness, then shook his head and turned away. "I know the truth," he said. "No matter how you keep denying it." And with those words, the Austrian stepped out of the building and headed to a carriage that seemed to be waiting for him.

Arthur watched his back for several seconds, then turned to the opposite direction and drew cold, humid air deep into his lungs. Heavy clouds were covering the sky and it looked all so grey around, but Arthur, on the contrary, felt lighter than he had for a too long time. It was actually funny; he had just been confirmed that he wouldn't get his job back and yet he felt good inside. It was almost like- Like Francis had said in Paris. Like deep inside, he had started to heal.

A gust of wind twirled around the Englishman and he smiled – slightly sadly, but smiled nonetheless. "Hello there, Lizzy... Care to accompany me home?"

And he was sure he heard bright, familiar laughter responding him in the wind.

xXx

The walk home did good to Arthur, and he decidedly pushed the darker side of the situation aside; now that he had plenty of time to worry, he could as well save on day for being careless.

It was when Arthur had prepared himself a cup of tea and grabbed a book (Pride And Prejudice, to be precise) to read that he was proved nothing was as simple as that. There were two sharp, demanding knocks on his door.

Groaning, the Englishman got off his sofa and walked to the door, wondering who it might be.

It was Francis.

Suddenly the peace that Arthur had just gained shattered all around of him. Seeing the serious face of the Frenchman so painfully close was too shocking for the Englishman at the moment, and before he knew what he was doing, he slammed the door closed before either of them could even blink an eye. His heart racing, Arthur rested his forehead against the wooden surface and tried to remember how to breathe.

"Open the door, Arthur."

"Sod off," Arthur muttered through the door, not really meaning for the words to reach the Frenchman.

"If you don't open the door immediately, I will," Francis said. His voice wasn't threatening; he was just stating facts. "It's not easy to stand here," he added.

Arthur closed his eyes, not knowing whether he could take it right then. But Francis was right; it must have been a real trial to knock on his door. And even though unwillingly, Arthur had to admit that Francis had taken the first steps towards the truce, not him. If he didn't acknowledge that now, it would be late – Francis would walk away and at least Arthur would spend the rest of his life regretting.

So he took a deep breath and opened the door. "Uh," he said, not quite looking into the paralysing blue eyes. "Come in." He gestured towards the living room and while the Frenchman was taking off his coat, went ahead. He was soon followed by his guest, who positioned himself on a chair opposite to the sofa. The sight was too familiar, Francis in his living room, and Arthur's head was suddenly filled with silent words such as I'm sorry and could we just start it all over again. But he didn't say them aloud, he couldn't; he had forgotten how to speak. Francis didn't say anything, either, and the silence stretched between the two men until Arthur felt he would explode.

In vain attempt to fill the silence, he cleared his throat, determined to say something. This got the Frenchman look at him, and suddenly Arthur forgot whatever he was going to be say. But he had already opened his mouth, so he couldn't remain silent anymore. "Erm, I..." He tried to find the words, any words, but failed. "I."

This, however, seemed to have given the Frenchman the small nudge he needed to begin. "I had nothing to do with it," he said. "With your company, I mean."

"I know..." Arthur felt a lump in his throat and tried to swallow it – unsuccessfully.

Silence.

"I," Francis said stiffly and avoiding the Englishman's eyes, "am sorry. About what I said back then."

Arthur raised his hand to the side of his forehead, rubbing it lightly. "I know. I..." He felt the words in his mouth and struggled to force them out. "Me too."

"I meant the very opposite of what I said."

"I didn't mean what I said, either." The words came out as a mere whisper.

I love him. The thought flashed quickly and subtly in the Englishman's mind, taking him by surprise and completely startling him. Dear Lord help me, I'm in love with him... Struck by the realisation, Arthur absently followed the trails of small scars on his left palm. Great, now what?

"What happened to your hand?"

Arthur's eyes jerked to Francis, who was frowning and looking at his hand. "Oh, this," the Englishman said nonchalantly. "Just... a small accident."

The Frenchman's frown deepened and he didn't look convinced, but said nothing nonetheless. He raised his eyes from Arthur's palm to his face and caught the Englishman staring. For few seconds their eyes locked together, filling the empty space between them, but then Arthur blinked and the moment was gone. Francis nervously tucked a strand of his wavy hair behind his ear and cleared his throat. "Gilbert has asked us to come at his place at around six tonight. He has something to inform about the game."

"Oh," Arthur said.

"Yes." The Frenchman stood up, looking somewhat uneasy. "Well, I should go now."

No! everything in Arthur screamed, but instead of saying it aloud, he merely nodded and let the silence fall upon them once again. He followed Francis to the door and waited while he pulled his coat on.

At the door Francis turned to the Englishman once more. "By the way," he said, offering a small but very real and very honest smile, "I lost the game." And with that he left, shutting the door behind him.

Arthur was left to stare after him, shaken inside and horribly confused. What had just happened? Had they made up or what? Restlessly, he returned to his book and half-drunk tea. He lifted the cup to his lips and took a sip – the tea was still a little bit warm.

A tiny smile crept on Arthur's lips. Maybe it was a sign. Maybe they still had hope.

xXx

"You are late," Gilbert announced when he let Arthur in at quarter to six that evening. "Look, when even I'm on time, it's a shame for you not being."

"You're on time only because it's your place we are meeting at," Arthur retorted. "Besides, it's not even six yet."

"Gah, don't stick to trivial matters."

Entering the Prussian's living room, Arthur saw that indeed, he was the last one. Francis was already sitting on the sofa, and even Ivan was there, sitting beside the Frenchman. Gilbert slumped down on his armchair, leaving Arthur to choose whether to sit beside Francis or on a separate chair.

Hesitating just a bit, Arthur chose the separate chair; the awkwardness about his and Francis complicated relationship hadn't evaporated anywhere. Sitting down, Arthur saw from the corner of his eye the Frenchman observing him, but chose to pretend as if he hadn't noticed.

"Well?" he said, keeping his eyes on Gilbert.

"What? Oh," the Prussian absently swayed his hand. "Right, so how was that company thing?"

Well, that hadn't been Arthur's point, but he shrugged and answered indifferently. "They kicked me out."

"Kicked you out?" Francis repeated and frowned.

"Yeah. Though they apologised me first. By the way, Gilbert, it was your uncle who had set me up."

The Prussian made a face. "I just knew Roddy was plotting on something nasty."

"But how?" Ivan took part in conversation. "My sister had turned him down."

"Your sister?" Arthur asked, threading, but was ignored as Francis cleared his throat. "Actually," he said, casting a wary glance at the Russian beside him, "she didn't."

Ivan's eyes narrowed dangerously. "What did you say?"

"What the fuck is going on?" Arthur interrupted, completely puzzled. What did Natalia have to do with anything?

Francis turned to him to explain (or to escape the Russian's violet stare, Arthur wouldn't know). "Roderich bribed Natalia to steal the documents from you when she would be cleaning your apartment."

Arthur's jaw dropped. Could you trust bloody nobody these days? "How the hell I'm the only one who didn't know?" he grumbled to himself, but Gilbert caught that and rolled his eyes. "Usually the victims are not informed about the betrayal," he uttered and grinned, as if he had said a funny joke.

Francis raised his eyebrows at the Prussian. "Very true Gilbert," he said somewhat sarcastically. "But isn't it ironical? Apparently this 'Roddy' of yours got Natalia to his side by revealing her where you live, so that she can keep a better eye on her brother."

There was a second of silence, during which Ivan paled and Gilbert's face got through various expressions before settling to a horrified, wide-eyes look. "Scheiße!"the Prussian jumped up off his armchair. "Shit! Fucking shit!"

Ivan, too, stood up and approached the window, intending to keep an eye on streets nearby.

Somehow Arthur found it hard to suppress his laughter, and Francis didn't even try; the startled, cursing Prussian was quite a sight. Gilbert himself, however, wasn't nearly as amused. "All those freaking times felt someone was watching me in the shadows... Fuck it! Shit!"

Ivan, too, shuddered and went to make himself a shot of vodka before returning back to his place at the window. Arthur looked longingly at the shelf where Gilbert had his alcohol and sighed; he surely was in a need of a glass or two of whiskey.

To distract himself himself from his desire and in order to prevent his cousin from freaking out any more, the Englishman changed the subject. "So... What was it you wanted to say about the game?" he asked Gilbert, who had slumped back on his chair.

"Oh, right, that!" The Prussian seemed to regain his energy as fast as he had momentarily lost it barely a moment ago. "Yeah, guys. It's over now. Game over," he said and laughed. "So, as your awesome judge, I declare Francis to be disqualified. Which means, you won, Artie."

"Say what?" Arthur glanced at the Frenchman, who now, in turn, ignored his questionable look. It was Gilbert who offered an explanation.

"He broke the rules," he said, standing up and going to the shelf with different drinks. "Interfered with your personal life, you see."

"How?" Arthur asked, persistently looking at Francis until the Frenchman no longer could ignore his stare. "If you didn't set me up, then-" Arthur blinked in realisation. "So it was you who told my associates the truth," he stated slowly, as a mater of fact.

Francis shrugged and flashed a smile that made the Englishman's heart skip a beat. "Well, I couldn't let myself be simply used like that, could I?"

Carefully Arthur returned the smile. "I guess you couldn't." As Francis didn't turn his dizzying face away, the Englishman felt himself flushing a bit and stood up to join Gilbert at the shelf. Yes, he seriously needed a drink right now.

"Don't get drunk, I won't be carrying you back to your house ever again," the Prussian uttered and headed back to his seat. Arthur filled his glass with whiskey and turned to claim his chair again, too, but apparently Ivan had decided it to be ideal place for lurking the window. The only free places left were on the sofa beside Francis.

"Hm," the Englishman said, sitting down about half an arm's length from the Frenchman. "Well, who would be leading the game if... if the frog hadn't broken the rules?"

Francis gave him a sly look and crossed his arms on his chest, and Gilbert grinned widely. "Easy! I have no idea about the cities, but Francis had far more addresses. But," He gulped down his drink, smiling smugly, visibly satisfied with himself. "more importantly, his superiority in seducing is proved by the fact that he got someone as idiotically stubborn as you fall for him."

Arthur nearly chocked on his drink. He coughed and felt his face heating up. Even without looking he just knew that the bloody frog was smirking beside him and watching him with his cursed blue eyes. Why the hell did Gilbert speak of them like they were a couple already?

"You-" he tried to growl, but coughed again, and the Frenchman shifted slightly closer to tap his back. Even when the hand was long gone, Arthur could feel it on his back as a hot print through his shirt. He was about to snort something when Ivan joined the conversation. "If skill is a requirement for superiority," the Russian commented calmly, "I would say Arthur is a better seducer. Because, after all, it indeed shows great skill if someone like him got someone like Francis falling in love with him."

"What's wrong with you people?" Arthur blurted, mortified. Gilbert first grinned, then started laughing like a maniac. Ivan simply smiled in his own, weird way, having not insulted anyone in his own opinion – simply spoken the truth.

And then Francis burst into laughter. The laughter bubbled from deep inside of him, and suddenly Arthur couldn't get his eyes off him. How long had it been since he had heard Francis laughing like that, so freely? Too long. Too long.

"So if that's how it is," the Frenchman managed to say, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes, "Arthur truly deserves the status of the winner." The deep blue eyes watched straight into Arthur's, a serious question behind the glee. "Or what do you think, Arthur?"

"Certainly," the Englishman found himself answering. "Besides, well," he added, smirking. "you just couldn't go without violating the rules."

Francis tilted his head, not letting either of them turn their gazes away. An unreadable smiled crept on his face. "But Arthur, didn't you know?" he asked, leaning just slightly closer. "All is fair in love and war."

Arthur's mouth went dry and unconsciously he leaned towards the Frenchman, too. "And which one is this?" he asked hoarsely, and Francis knew exactly what he meant. Slowly he leaned forwards and closed the space between them, gently touching the Englishman's lips with his own, as if asking for permission to do so. Arthur's breath hitched from the unexpected contact, however light it was. It felt like eternity since they had touched each other in that way... or in any way for that matter. Arthur didn't shy away, and that was all Francis needed. He suddenly pulled the Englishman rather roughly closer and attacked his mouth with almost desperate hunger, capturing his lips in a fierce kiss. Arthur gasped, his mind going blank, and threw his hands into the golden locks, pulling at them as the kiss deepened. Francis growled when his hair was being pulled and for a good measure, bit the Englishman's bottom lip. That provoked Arthur to do something more in order to not to lose the battle, but before he could, Gilbert's loud voice cut through into their consciousnesses, making them pull apart.

"Hey, guys, I don't care if you are fighting or making out but not on my sofa!" Despite the superficially irritated tone, the contentment in the Prussian's voice was evident.

Neither Francis nor Arthur, however, paid much attention to their friend. Francis smirked widely and victoriously at the Englishman. "Did you get your answer?"

Arthur couldn't help grinning in response, even though Francis was a bastard for avoiding giving straight answers. But the Englishman didn't care. His heart was beating like crazy and blood was rushing in his veins and he was alive. Yeah, he couldn't care less. "That was not a proper answer!"

"In that case," Francis said, "We have to find it out together, non?"

And strangely, for once, Arthur felt like agreeing with him.

X

"It is better to be defeated on principle than to win on lies."

-Arthur Calwell