On Better Terms
Chapter 20
Commentary from the Hetalia Gallery
Alfred: Holy cow... I actually feel kinda... sad...
Arthur: Kinda?! I'm crying here! WHY?!
Francis: Perhaps it is... love? Hm?
Arthur: France, shut up. No one cares about you and your love. No wonder you get such fandom hatred.
Ivan: Arthur... be nice...
*Arthur runs away to Alfred out of instinct*
Ivan: I find it so amusing that you two are acting just like Galythia is writing
Arthur: *cough* I don't know what you're talking about
Alfred: Well, I am hungry, if that's what you're saying, Ivan~
Arthur: *facepalm*
Arthur had taken to wandering the streets in search of something he couldn't find. The tears were gone, replaced by eyes that never looked at anything anymore. They were just blank. Arthur was abstracted from the world around him, turned into the ghost of the person he used to be.
Arthur found himself gripped vehemently by a desperate search, almost as if fate had him in a chokehold. He walked around, sometimes in circles, just looking… looking… But after so much aimless wandering, Arthur wasn't even sure what he was looking for anymore. He was losing sight of himself.
Peter… Alfred… Peter… Alfred… Ivan… Peter… Alfred…
That was basically the pattern of Arthur's thoughts as he went through the day, not sure if he was even looking for them anymore. He was just looking for something, whatever that something may be.
During the day, Arthur would walk around New York City, not sure where to go or what to do. But he always came back to the same place to rest at night. But day and night started to mesh together into one impossibly malleable ball of gooey misery that Arthur just wanted to squash under his feet and forget about forever. Sometimes, Arthur thought he saw a flash of dirty blonde that was reminiscent of Alfred's hair; other times, Arthur could have sworn that he heard the unmistakable clanging of the odd pipe that Ivan was so fond of. It always sent shivers running down Arthur's body, and he wrapped his sordid jacket around him even tighter at those times.
Arthur never felt secure anymore. He was going insane, growing paranoid about everything and everyone. Once, he remembered staring ferociously at the pigeons, threatening them that if they brought information to Ivan about his whereabouts and humiliating condition, he would break out his kung fu on them. Apparently, Arthur forgot about the fact that pigeons didn't speak English, and that he himself didn't know any form on martial arts. Otherwise, he probably would have beaten up on Ivan in the car, rather than let himself be… taken advantage of in such a manner. But all of that didn't really matter when Arthur talked to pigeons, did it?
At night, Arthur would lie around, tossing and turning in a restless sleep that would leave him feeling terribly disoriented in the morning—whatever the morning was anymore. The nights seem to mess around with him until he wasn't sure what was a dream and what was sleep anymore. All he could remember in the morning was tossing and turning, seeing things that probably were never there, and feeling an utter sense of loss and hopeless searching wash over him in waves and waves that got stronger as they went on. He had to admit that it wasn't the best feeling…
And so, Arthur took to not sleeping. Or at least he tried to sleep as little as possible. He hated the disoriented state that sleeping left him in, and so he tried to avoid that as much as possible. But sometimes, Arthur would just have to stop and sit down against whatever surface he could find and sleep. His body just wouldn't let him continue anymore in such a startlingly enervated state.
But it was at those times that Arthur found the best sleep he had had in a while, meaning that it wasn't riddled with tossing and turning and odd dreams that he couldn't remember upon waking up. Arthur found peace at those times. That was the reason why he decided to stick with his new way of life—the way of life of wearing himself out to the most fatigued state possible, then taking a long rest wherever he could find it. It was the way that brought him the most peace—though the times he spent awake and wandering, frantically looking for something he couldn't remember nor find, were anything but peaceful. But the extremely fatigued sleep brought him peace. And god knows he needed as much peace as he could get.
Alfred felt his body seizing up, freezing with the fear that crashed over his body in waves that threatened to knock him over had his feet not felt like they were glued to the ground in that permanent position. The smile that Ivan wore was so sweet and innocent that it utterly unnerved Alfred beyond anything else he had ever seen.
Ivan should have been a lawyer, Alfred couldn't help thinking. He would have won with just the smile…
Alfred felt Peter's hand slip out of his own as Peter dropped to his knees in despair. Alfred could feel the hopelessness that emanated from the small boy, and that feeling renewed Alfred's will to fight back against Ivan. All of his own fear—well, most of it—was pushed aside when he remembered his goal of Arthur's happiness—and by virtue, Peter's happiness also. Yes. He was doing good by being here, facing this Russian mob leader. Good. Right.
I'm the hero. I can handle this. No problem… Alfred felt that that was much easier said than done.
Alfred was barely able to suppress a flinch when Ivan stood up from his leaning position against the truck and started leaning on his pipe instead.
God why does every mob leader have a pipe? And why is this a metal-pipe-cane-water-faucet thing? Does it hurt mo—Don't think about it. Be strong. Hero. Arthur. Right.
Alfred puffed up his chest in what he felt was a heroic stance, though it just made him look more like an idiot. But as long as it made Alfred feel right, he didn't care how he looked—though looking menacing would have been a wonderful plus.
Peter by now was a quivering puddle next to Alfred, slightly behind Alfred's leg. He was shaking uncontrollably, and was trying his best to keep back his tears, for Peter had learned long ago that Ivan took great pleasure in tears, though he took the most pleasure in Arthur's tears. Peter was as close to Arthur as Ivan would get… for now.
Alfred instinctively stepped in front of Peter, though he wasn't sure if that was the best idea for his own courage and self-assurance. Alfred swallowed loudly, but he stood his ground nevertheless. Still, Alfred couldn't help but wish he had his briefcase back, even if it was empty, since it would have served as a much better shield than Alfred's own hands.
"Alfred," Ivan murmured in his condescending yet oh so innocent voice. "May I ask what you are doing?"
Somehow, that didn't seem as open ended a question as it should have.
Alfred could feel the sweat forming as he tried to think of a good answer. And how was he supposed to answer the way he wanted to, complete with swears, if there was a thirteen year old boy at his feet?
"Mr. Bragi—"
"Ivan."
"… All right. Ivan, then." What an unnerving smile… "Can we… talk about this… perhaps, over some coffee at Feliciano's?" Alfred already knew the answer, but it was worth a try, wasn't it?
"Oh dear Alfred… I think you and I both know that that is quite impossible, da?"
Alfred cleared his throat, mustering up all of his willpower to not reach a hand up and loosen his collar. Why did ties have to be tied so chokingly tight to have them look nice and decent? Whoever invented them was stupid, Alfred decided.
"… Yes. But how about we put Peter here safely in the car first?" Alfred knew that he was taking a risk by implying that he would be able to walk away from this with Peter safely at hand—and be able to walk away from this at all. But hopefully, Ivan's delicate balance of innocent axe murderer would refrain him from taking any physical action at the present moment.
Ivan didn't even appear to think about it as he immediately replied, "Of course. We wouldn't want to harm the little child, would we? Yes… Let's put him in the car first, then we can chat out here amongst ourselves, hm?"
Alfred shuddered as that smile landed upon him once again. How the hell do Russians always appear so scary? Or was it just this one Russian that had that menacing ability? No wonder the Cold War was so unnerving…
Peter didn't look up as he was being talked about, but he did look up when he felt Alfred's hands gently lift him up by the armpits. Peter tried to stand on his own, but his shaky legs would not allow it.
Alfred hastily opened the door, trying to keep an eye on the Russian, who was—thankfully—standing off to the side so that he was easily kept in Alfred's peripheral. Peter hoisted himself inside with a little help by Alfred.
"Lock the door," Alfred whispered, and slammed the door shut, the extra force doing no difference to the level of minimal security, but it helped Alfred's poor heart.
Turning back to the Russian that he found himself having nightmares about, Alfred forced himself to look up and meet Ivan's eyes. He almost balked the moment his own eyes met with violet ones evenly gazing back at him with an almost amused expression. Almost. Alfred frankly had no idea how he ever managed to stand his ground and keep their eyes locked to each other.
"So… Alfred…" Ivan murmured, walking slowly closer, trailing his pipe on the hood of the car oh so gently. "It is obvious to me what you are doing, so you need not explain. It's a miracle what technology can bring us, da?"
Alfred swallowed rather loudly and nodded, all of his energy taken up with just keeping Ivan's gaze. Alfred had no ability to speak in reply, nor did he have the ambition to do so, for that matter.
Ivan chuckled softly—something that made Alfred shudder involuntarily—and looked away to observe his pipe for a moment, studying it in a half disinterested but amused manner, and continued. "Quite a stunt you pulled in the records… Lucky that the other lawyer showed up to distract the guard, right?"
Alfred's eyes widened. Ivan knew? God how powerful was this network of Ivan's? Damn Russians probably took over the world and all the politicians are just scared to admit it.
Alfred held no reply, except for the obvious surprise at finding out Ivan's power network. Ivan continued after studying the American's face a little.
"But no matter. I admire the lengths you went through for someone so… lovely as Arthur. Pity that this"—Ivan gestured to Peter, whom they could see through the windshield, and was cowering in a ball on the passenger seat, not looking up—"would stop dear Arthur's beautiful tears. He is most gorgeous when crying."
That little comment kindled the fire within Alfred's heart. This Russian in front of him was so despicable! Alfred would have let that go if the comment was made about anyone else, but Arthur? No one was going to get away with commenting so offhandedly about something so horrible pertaining to Arthur. Alfred would make sure of that, even if his efforts against Ivan were probably futile.
"Y-you… you… how dare you smile when talking about Arthur's tears?" Alfred yelled out, gathering courage in his heart. "Arthur is ten times a better man than you'll ever be. He should never cry."
Alfred's eyes narrowed challengingly, staring hard into Ivan's unfazed gaze. The unmoving and unchanging nature of Ivan's gaze threw off Alfred a little, but Ivan's amused comment had sparked enough of the fight within Alfred that it didn't get to him too much. Alfred couldn't help flinching a little when Ivan brought his pipe up and gripped it with both hands in front of his chest. It wasn't his fault that it was human nature's natural survival instinct that caused him to do such.
"Well, he does, and it's beautiful," Ivan replied without hesitating. Alfred frowned. That slight smile was just so utterly annoying that Alfred almost punched Ivan just to get rid of it. Almost. His human survival instinct was keeping him back. Ivan could read the violence well enough though, and it only pleased him further.
"But I'll be nice, just for you, and let Peter go back to Arthur. But~ I have some conditions."
Alfred found himself stepping out of his fighting stance, which he didn't realize he had taken in the first place. Those were the last words that he had expected Ivan to say. Ivan was going to let Peter go? What about the stupid—and probably lucrative—sex trade that was going on or something? It was sick, no doubt about that, and thoughts of it made Alfred gag, but Alfred was a lawyer, and he could see the value of someone so… pliable as Peter. Why was Ivan letting Peter go?
Then the lawyer remembered the comment about the conditions. Uh oh… Alfred had a vague feeling that if he chose the conditions—when he chose the conditions, since there wasn't much else to choose—he would find out why Ivan was letting Peter go so easily… and that it would make sense… which meant that Alfred already hated those conditions with all of his heart.
Warily, Alfred murmured, "All right… What are these conditions?" He tried to maintain some semblance of dignity and calmness, despite the fact that he was blown away by the fact that there was even an offer in the first place. Alfred knew that unless it involved harm to Peter or Arthur, he would accept it. He already knew that, but he couldn't let Ivan knew that he had won already. No. That would only please the Russian too much.
Ivan's smile widened, showing that Alfred had picked the expected choice. Of course, the both of them knew that there really wasn't much of a choice in the first place, but the satisfaction on Ivan's face made Alfred really want to punch the Russian. Thankfully, Alfred loved his life enough to not even twitch.
"Simple," Ivan replied, still smiling that awfully frustrating grin—it was as close to a grin as Ivan would ever get. "Arthur and Peter move to England. I'll provide the housing and money to start off. They can start taking things over from there, and eventually, they'll be off of my goodwill."
Alfred spat inwardly. Goodwill my ass. This is all your fault! Actually, it was also Alfred's fault, but he really didn't want to think about that at the moment. Making himself miserable wasn't going to help matters. He could do that once he got home.
Once he calmed enough past his initial anger to actually listen to Ivan's conditions and think about it, he found that the conditions weren't that bad. Arthur and Peter could start a new life and hopefully they could forget about the horrors they had faced here. England had a wonderful education system, and though the weather didn't suit Alfred that much, he somehow felt that Arthur would be much more comfortable there.
"Wait. What about the legal aspects of Arthur's moving and the money issue?" Alfred had been involved in too many cases pertaining to such topics to not be careful. And now that he was facing the grand master of all things illegal, Alfred needed assurance that things would work out. There would be no tricks if he could help it.
Ivan chuckled and began to stroke his pipe slowly, gaze evenly resting on Alfred. "Everything will be legally sound, I assure you. Money will be transferred to a newly opened bank account, kept in Switzerland, in a slow manner that won't attract any attention. Their house will be legally theirs, as a… gift, for lack of a better word. I'll even send you all of the documents."
Alfred kept suspicion in his eyes, but deep down, he still knew that he'd accept the wager. He'd have to take Ivan up on that offer to look over the papers, but that could be done later. The important thing was the child currently crying in his friend's car and the homeless person who possibly had gotten himself mugged by now.
Alfred opened his mouth to accept the wager, but was stopped by Ivan's next words.
"Not so fast, dear Alfred… There is still… one last thing."
Damn! I knew that it was too good to be true. Alfred balked a little, losing eye contact with Ivan as he glanced nervously at Peter, who was still curled up in a ball on the seat.
"What is it?" Alfred asked in a tone much colder than the thought he could muster against Ivan. Apparently, his defensive side of Arthur and Peter made him much more brave than he would ever be otherwise.
Ivan chuckled at Alfred's tone, tsking softly in a frustratingly belittling manner. Alfred steeled himself up more strongly against Ivan staring hard into the Russian's eyes, even if he could barely stand to do so on the inside.
"I… Tell them what happened here between us however I want to… Oh, actually, one more thing." That statement made it obvious that Ivan was making this up as he went along, which angered Alfred beyond anything else so far. It was so humiliating to have these conditions made up right as they went along. It was like deciding whether or not to kill someone based on a roll of dice. It was the Russian thing to do, Alfred felt. And the childish gleam of happiness in Ivan's eyes only served to further enrage the lawyer.
"You can't have any contact with them for… say… ten years, shall we? Oh… That might be a bit much. We'll say just eight instead. Aren't I so kind when I want to be?" Ivan smiled his innocent 'I'll kill you if you say no' smile and did the classic threatening tap-one-hand-with-the-pipe-using-the-other-hand thing. But that wasn't what was causing the wide gaze of Alfred's eyes. It was the condition that was causing those inward tears. Alfred's heart was crumbling right before him, mostly because he knew that he'd accept the wager anyways, if this was the final condition. He had said that he would accept whatever the terms were, as long as they didn't harm either Arthur or Peter. Alfred wasn't included in that… and no doubt Arthur would actually probably be glad of the fact that both Ivan and Alfred were out of his life. Kill two birds with one stone. How gory.
Ivan experienced great satisfaction and joy at seeing the devastated expression take over Alfred's face. Causing pain was what he did best, and was what he loved to do the most. He stood by patiently for the deal to sink in all the way, and for Alfred to muster up enough heart to reply, with no doubt an agreement. Ivan was sure of that. Love always made people so sacrificial…
Both the lawyer and the Russian gang leader were too occupied in their conversation to notice that Peter had stopped his shaking and was sitting still, not facing the window, but listening to the conversation through the window. After all, car doors didn't automatically make things soundproof.
The moment that last condition was mentioned, Peter froze. That was utterly horrible! It was obvious to the boy how much Alfred really cared for Arthur, even if Peter didn't really coin it as 'love'—though Peter had the suspicion that Alfred really was in love. But nevertheless, even if it wasn't love, Alfred had risked his life to come here and retrieve Peter and make things right again. No human would ever do that unless they really cared. But now Ivan was making it almost impossible for Alfred to ever be properly recognized or forgiven for what he had done.
Peter knew that he was powerless to do anything, but he told himself that he would at least let Arthur know the truth behind things, even if Ivan wouldn't. Alfred couldn't either.
But the younger Kirkland was half expecting Alfred to just decline the deal, since love often made people selfish bastards. That was what Peter had learned based off of his parents' relationship and Arthur's relationship with Ivan. Love always made people selfish, and this case should be no different.
So of course, he was surprised when he heard a deadpan reply come from Alfred that defied his expectations.
"If that is it, then Mr. Braginski, you have an agreement."
Ivan's triumphant smile almost brought Alfred over the edge. It probably would have had he not been so devastated about not being able to see Arthur for another eight years… He wouldn't get the chance to explain himself, to tell Arthur of what he did, to ask for Arthur's forgiveness, to gain back Arthur's trust… Well, he would get the chance after eight years, but by then, who even remembers anymore? Both Arthur and Peter had experienced far too much heartbreak with both Ivan and Alfred that anything pertaining to them would be fast tossed aside. Alfred and Ivan were both painful memories… scabs that needed to heal… Alfred almost laughed. In that instant, Ivan and Alfred were practically in the same situation—Arthur hated them both probably in an equal amount. What a wonderful thought. Oh the irony.
"I thought you would agree," Ivan replied in a crisp but highly delighted tone that showed off his triumph. "Now I know that you'll want to make this agreement legal—well, as legal as it can be, considering the situation involved—and also work out the minor nuances, so how about we discuss it over some coffee at Feliciano's?"
Alfred's eyes snapped up, though they had lost their brightness and fight. All that was left was a defeated man.
"What about Peter?"
"I'll see that he is safely returned to Arthur, and that they are both settled in England in about three days time."
"How can I trust your words?"
"Alfred, I'm true to my word. You just have to make sure that my word has no loopholes."
That damned smile! "No harm will befall both Arthur and Peter?"
"None. I promise."
"Wow, I get the word of a Russian. How assuring," Alfred muttered under his breath. To Ivan, he replied, "We will have to figure out the consequences if what you just said is broken."
"Again, over coffee and Feliciano's. And maybe some vodka and pasta."
"… Can I at least drive Peter to a drop-off point or something?"
"No. The conditions start now. I can't have you in contact with either Peter or Arthur, or the deal is void. I'm sure a lawyer so talented as you will understand."
"Far too well…"
Alfred knew that he had lost, but he had to at least try. There was no way that he trusted Ivan, but Alfred really saw no way around it. He had to let Peter into the fate of Ivan's hands again—the hands from which he had just helped Peter to escape. How utterly ironic this whole day was turning out to be.
Ivan sensed Alfred's untrusting thoughts and added, "You can even send Anh to check on them. I'm sure she won't mind."
Alfred was beyond surprises now. His eyes barely even reacted to the news that Ivan knew who Anh was, or that Anh had been working with Alfred. The Russian just knew too much… just had too much power…
"I'll take you up on that offer, Mr. Braginski."
"Ivan."
"Mr. Braginski."
Ivan relented for the moment and instead took out his phone. Before he dialed anything, Ivan put his phone back in his pocket, rethinking his words.
"On second thought. I'll let you confirm it yourself… But not in a way that you'd particularly enjoy, I'd say. Come with me to Feliciano's right now. We'll take Peter too."
Alfred knew that there were definitely about a million strings attached to Ivan's statement, but again, he saw no other option but to just go with it. Sure, he was a great lawyer, but at the moment, Alfred couldn't even bring up one reason as to why that was so.
Alfred turned, but only enough so that he could walk around to the driver's seat of the car—he didn't want to let Ivan out of his sight for one second. But Ivan had other ideas, and put out an arm to stop Alfred. Alfred paused before they actually touched.
"Not quite, dear Alfred… I'll have my chauffeur come around and he can bring us there. As suspicious as you are of me, I am also quite suspicious in return."
Yeah right, you bastard… Immoral, unethical, annoying bastard… Alfred couldn't help but wonder how the hell Arthur was ever married to this man in the first place…
The car soon pulled up. It was just a regular Honda Accord, for none of the three really wanted to draw attention to the group at the moment. There were already enough issues as it was.
Ivan didn't allow Alfred to even touch Peter as they transferred the boy from one car to another without explanation. Peter didn't ask for one. They figured that he was still far too dumbfounded by the day's events thus far, or by the fact that Ivan and Alfred appeared to be working together.
Probably thinks I'm a traitor… But no thoughts could really disturb Alfred now. He was beyond disturbed. The next eight years… possibly the rest of his life… would always be missing some very, very vital piece.
Silently, the three of them went off to Feliciano's Fettuccini.
Author's Comments:
Ugh... So much has been happening recently... This chapter is plain trash, and I feel pretty bad about it, since it's one of the vital parts of the plot, yet I can't do it justice. I can barely think right now... It probably has a million mistakes and there is no feeling to it, and I'm sorry. But I don't think I could do better until school ends in like two months or something... Argh... lo siento... Whatever... Spanish... peh...
So imagine the emotion or something. Or someone write a better version of this chapter or something... I'm so sorry that it lacks everything. It's just words, but words are better than nothing. I hope you'll forgive me for it being so short too... I love this story, don't get me wrong, but I haven't been feeling it recently.
So there you have it. Ta-da.
- Galythia
P.S. Congrats to... LolliDictator for getting the last question correct! I'm sorry, but I'm just far too... bleh to think up a question right now. Do forgive me (just like I hope you will for this chapter). Ugh it's nasty... Oh, and beyond the part about Arthur at the beginning, I have absolutely no idea what I wrote. Really.