Regular font indicates the present.
Italic font indicates flashbacking or dreaming; whether it's a flashback or a dream will be clarified.
Bold italic font indicates thought.
Bold regular font indicates writing/typing.
"-nk God you're alrigh-"
"-hat happened to you-"
"-hat happened to you-"
-ave you gotten those sc-"
"-night-"
Alfred stirred when he felt a distinct warmth in his hand vanish.
He moaned quietly, wishing it would return as it felt nice and oddly familiar, though his sleep-warped mind couldn't discern its origin. He felt something soft press against his forehead, leaving a pleasant tingling sensation, though it left as quickly as it had come. He could hear curtains being pushed aside, allowing the place he was in to become brighter, based on the light that infiltrated his eyelids.
All the obscurity aside, Alfred felt warm, bandaged, and safe.
Therefore, it was natural for him to immediately think he was dead.
The last thing he could remember was feeling…light. Like his body decided it was sick of gravity and all its limitations and decided to float upwards. It felt both relaxing and unnerving, almost dizzying, cutting the rope of restrictions and letting his brain fly like a balloon. Aside from the distinct sensation of weightlessness, he could vaguely recall hitting the floor and feeling the glass from England's smoke bomb embed itself even deeper into his skin, the pain that previously spread like liquid fire through his nervous system melding into darkness much like his surroundings.
Then there had been a brief period of time where it felt like he had been adrift on a sea of unconsciousness, constantly fluttering in and out of it. It was dream-like and rather surreal as his brain came up with nauseatingly-chaotic figments of imagination, like he had taken a particularly-heavy dose of LSD and decided to watch cartoons. At some points, he was so deeply out of it that he wouldn't have been surprised if he was dead, but at other points, he was so close to bridging the gap between his mind and reality that he could pick up pieces of conversation.
Speaking of conversation, Alfred could hear another one occurring if he strained his ears accordingly. He could definitely hear talking; he just needed to hone his concentration before he could try making some sense of it.
"-ssed out last night, outside the door-"
"-njured beyond anything I've ever seen-"
"-mproved immensely overnight, though I need to restock on medicine-"
"-on't know who could have hurt him-"
"-think it might have been America-san?"
Now, everything about him felt heavy; his tongue felt like a useless slab of meat in his mouth, his arms and legs like huge chunks of lead hastily stapled onto a torso, and his brain like it was being smashed by a slice of lemon wrapped in a large gold brick. It hurt enough to even breathe so he took strenuous care in opening his eyes and made sure to blink several times so that that his fried retinas could adjust to the immense illumination. He took his time in looking around the room he was located in, eyeing the sunlight unabashedly filtering through the light green curtains with curiosity. The vast amounts of thick novels lining the shelves of the room and the collection of antique tea tins collecting dust on a desk all seemed familiar though Alfred's sluggish memory was struggling in naming the place, the deep, pulsating ache around his jaw and shoulder blades not helping in the slightest.
What about America?
He quickly sat up against the multiple pillows cushioning his head, neck, and shoulders only to immediately regret his decision when his joints announced their dissatisfaction with him through a series of sharp stabbing pains, all of which prompted Alfred to hiss loudly. Too loudly.
He inwardly panicked when he heard rapid footsteps coming in his direction as he tried to readjust the blankets around him to make it look like he had simply readjusted himself in his sleep. He closed his eyes and regulated his breathing, a difficult feat to manage as the door slowly creaked open and the footsteps paused. He imagined that they were observing his movements to see if he was unconscious, an inspection he must have passed as light, carefully-placed footsteps made their way towards him.
Alfred had no idea what he was expecting—maybe for his eyes to be suddenly poked through by rough hands, or his jaw to manhandled until it felt like he got sucker-punched again—so he was effectively thrown for a loop when long, thin fingers thread themselves into his golden locks and massaged his scalp, sending pleasurable shivers down his spine which soothed the screams of pain that formerly resonated throughout his body.
His mind somehow became even more sluggish as he found himself leaning into the touch with their fluid movements and gentle motions. It felt like the same hand that had removed itself from his grasp when he found himself stirring earlier.
Naturally, with this being one of the nicest sensations he had experienced in a while, it took him a minute to realize that the person making his skull feel like Jell-O was talking.
"-scared me half-to-death, you know; I honestly had no idea what I was going to do since I don't have much experience with tending to wounds, but from what I could tell, your injuries were fresh. You have have a lot of explaining to do in relation to that, and I expect some VERY good answers as punishment for making me worry so much."
A sigh further confirmed the American's suspicions, although the English accent was already pretty damning evidence. "As greatly as I wish this hadn't happened to you…I am happy that you came to me first, you foolish twat."
Yep, it's Arthur.
And as much as he wanted to delay the inevitable interrogation pertaining to his injuries and allow Arthur's hands to continue their acts of pure bliss on his scalp, he needed to see for himself if Arthur was okay and had managed to get home (mostly) unscathed; he made a mental note to inquire about the origin of the Brit's bandaged hand which, by now, had stopped their wonderful magic. Alfred groaned softly at the loss, his eyebrows rising when he realized how brightly the smaller blond was blushing.
"What?" The American wondered out loud, repressing the temptation to tilt his head to further illustrate his bemusement as it would undoubtedly hurt. Arthur's cheeks only increased their hue, provoking a smirk to cross Alfred's features that stung his jaw. "Did you plan to wake me up with a kiss?"
Alfred would have thought that the fact he was injured would have stopped Arthur from smacking his head with a rolled-up newspaper.
He was wrong since, according to Arthur, "YOU WERE PRIMARILY HURT AROUND YOUR TORSO AND JAW—THE TOP OF YOUR HEAD IS FREE-GAME, YOU WANKER!"
~ na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na~
Members of the New York Police Department had quite frankly seen some strange, disturbing, and downright terrifying shit. They had seen numerous crimes ranging from petty purse-snatchers to the most revolting and psychologically-scarring cases, and had emerged with their sanity (for the most part) intact. To be a police officer, one had to have courage, physical/mental agility, and nerves of steel. The higher-ranking officer one was, the better they were at controlling those characteristics, otherwise how else would they have stayed at their jobs for so long?
Nevertheless, to be a member of the NYPD, one had to be a hardened civilian who was capable of maintaining their strengths and concealing their weaknesses. One must never show weakness in front of potential enemies or allies, after all.
Yet that didn't stop everyone who encountered Department Chief Vash Zwingli from nearly passing out or pissing their pants in fear. Especially taking the fact that he looked like he was about to commit a horrendous crime into account!
Vash ignored the poorly-concealed stares and barely-hushed whispers that emitted from his peers and subordinates as he stalked his way to his office, his footsteps quick and ominous-sounding as the soles of his shoes clacked harshly against the tiled floor. His hands were clenched so tightly into fists at his sides that his knuckles had turned white, his green eyes were narrowed until they resembled that of snake eyes, and his teeth were chewing against his lip until he feared he would break through the skin. Not like it mattered, though—all he wanted was to get into his office, close and lock the door, and slam his head against a wall repeatedly if only to escape the tremendous shame and anger he was experiencing at the moment.
It seemed as though little-to-no time had passed before he had arrived at the door of his office, his hand twisting the knob to the right until the circular metal almost made a 360-degree rotation before he shoved it open and slammed it shut. He rested his back against the door, his chest heaving as he inhaled and exhaled, his pulse slowing down with each intake and release of breath through his nose and mouth. The blond glanced down at his hands, red marks of his fingernails temporarily tattooed against his fair skin, evidence of his temper. A soft sigh escaped him as his arms fell limp against his sides and he relinquished his weight off the door, walking towards his desk.
Vash sat down at his desk and leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. His head was pulsing with the beginnings of a migraine, one that wouldn't stop pestering him unless he nipped it in the bud with aspirin or something. A big cup of coffee sounded appealing, especially since he would probably be spending the night in his office with his newly-acquired workload courtesy of New York's quickly-rising star in the criminal world, England. Knowing the thief (and the situations he had a nasty habit of creating thanks to his antics), Vash would have a considerable mound of work to do after just one day since England's last endeavor at the Museum of the City of New York, or, known to the public, the Triple MCNY Theft.
He glanced over at his iphone set to the website of The New York Times, his eyes scanning over the highlight article that had brought the recent blunder to light. He had read it dozens of times already, yet, for the sake of him properly dealing with the hydra before it grew too out-of-hand, he had to absorb every piece of information, regardless of its importance or relevance.
Triple Theft at MCNY
Toris Laurinaitis, New York Times Staff Reporter
6/20/xx
Updated: 2 hours ago
New York City- At 9:19 P.M yesterday night, security guards at the Museum of the City of New York were making their rounds around the premise before they heard an alarm go off in the east wing on the third floor, in the Gilded Age exhibit. Sixteen out of the original twenty guards on patrol between the second and third floor of the museum rushed to where the alarm was sounded off, only to end up locked inside the room due to a large piece of heavy furniture blocking the entryway.
Members of the New York Police Department were later contacted by an anonymous source, leading them to the museum where they found three artifacts (a necklace-brooch and two necklaces, placed on display with the aid of Tiffany & Co) missing and uncovered the security guards who were unharmed. After thorough searching, they found the four missing guards that hadn't ventured off towards the alarm.
Three of the guards were discovered beside a broken glass container that was supposedly taken in for further analysis. As it was discovered that bullet holes were lodged into the air vent of the ceiling, the three have been taken in for interrogation. The fourth guard was found tied up in a corset with a ball of fabric in their mouth and has also been taken in for interrogation.
None of the guards have released public statements relating to their unique circumstances yet, though the validity of their potential statements remain questionable as rumors continue to circulate and doubt begins to surface. The New York Police Department has yet to accept or deny whether or not the heist was conducted by 'England' or if it was a ruse concocted by America in an attempt to win the public's opinion back in the police's favor. With luck, the New York Police Department will give its citizens the explanations they deserve.
Vash set the phone aside, repressing the strong temptation to break it. IPhones were extremely expensive, and he didn't want to use the money to repair the phone if he could prevent it from getting broken in the first place. It was just so infuriating seeing even The New York Times becoming biased—they were supposed to tell the news like it was, not bowing to any particular side! It was obvious that those who were apart of The New York Times were either sympathetic towards the public for feeling left out in important affairs, or milking the reactions of their audiences for as much money as they could get by publishing blatant slander directed towards the police!
They're taking a page of out England's book by using people's emotions to their advantage, the Swiss thought with another outward sigh, standing up and making himself a cup of caffeinated, bitter goodness that was perfect for easing the rough edge of his headaches. And it was cheap too—bonus. He popped an aspirin into his mouth and swallowed it dry, taking a swig of his drink and relishing the warmth speeding down his throat. A grimace etched itself onto his expression at the concept of more people like England, though. That'd probably be America's worst nightmare. As if the world wasn't already opportunistic.
The idea was definitely junk food for his thoughts; he knew he shouldn't even contemplate it, but he was unable to help himself. Not when he would be forced to mull it all over for the next few hours.
If he had to pinpoint the source of his anger from earlier, it would have had to have been from the Mayor of New York (no surprise there). Again, the man was reluctant to deem England a big-enough problem to involve the detectives, saying that he was "a small spider in a large forest full of deadly creatures" and that he'd "fade out of the public's eye soon enough". The man failed to realize that, where it had taken most criminals decades to make their names so world-renowned, England had accomplished so in a few weeks and with three successful heists!
"You fail to realize that people these days have a very limited attention span," the mayor rebutted, his back to Vash as he stared out the window overlooking Manhattan, the crimson sun waving goodbye as it ventured past the horizon of the Atlantic. "They only obsess over what entertains them. The instant they deem it uninteresting, they let it wither up and die. The same applies with this 'England' character."
"But sir," Vash began, taking a step forward and placing his palm firmly on the politician's desk. "Regardless of whether or not he'll fade out in terms of popularity, the fact remains that he has power now. We should gather up the detectives and investigate before he blows things entirely out of proportion!"
"You're being too irrational in your decisions, Department Chief Zwingli," the leader of New York countered, resulting in a furious blush rising against the Swiss's pale features. "Wasn't it 'O' that said that if we move without thinking, we would only be playing into his hands?"
"Y-yes, but all the more reason we should ambush England," the blond affirmed, biting the inside of his cheek due to humiliation. He was relieved for once that his supervisor wasn't making direct eye-contact, as he felt his position in the debate was faltering. "He expects us to take the logical path and think things through. We would catch him by surprise if we acted in a seemingly-impulsive way, and use that opportunity to catch him! Wasn't it former Detective Kirkland that said precaution was always a virtue to-"
"I will not tolerate any more of this foolishness, Zwingli."
Vash stopped and blinked a few times, his eyes growing wide as he removed his hand from the desk. "Foolishness?"
"Yes; you're acting too brashly with your heart as opposed to your head. As a police officer, and frankly, as a leader of other police officers, this is not a trait to have. You need to keep your feelings under tight surveillance, and allow nothing to stand in your way from doing what is right and just in the eyes of the law."
"B-but," Vash stuttered, mentally berating himself for allowing his tongue to slip in the presence of his superior. "To pass law without emotion…you might as well just leave it to a machine!"
"You must allow nothing to stand in the way from doing what is right and just. If you must sacrifice your conscience for the sake of the greater good, then so be it."
Vash bit down on his tongue to prevent him from saying something he would end up regretting. His hands turned to fists at his sides as he turned on his heel, and left the office for the police's headquarters.
He stared at his hands again, the angry red marks from earlier now soft pink in his palms and matching the kind of pink that reminded him of Europe's evening sky, the kind of pink that grew on the flowers outside his mother's cottage on the outskirts of Geneva, the kind of pink Lilli liked to use when he would visit Switzerland and she would sew embarrassing, endearing, and surprisingly cost-effective outfits for him. He looked away from his hands and stared at the portrait of his role-model, his eyes tracing the gold cursive of the phrase permanently engraved beneath the picture:
"Precaution is always a virtue to abide by."
He cascaded his gaze elsewhere, taking another sip of his coffee to occupy his hands with something to do only to wince given how lukewarm the drink had become. A groan escaped him as he laid his head on his arms, willing away his migraine that was returning with a vengeance. It sickened him to think that somehow, somewhere, England was in New York and walking around a free man, spreading his poisons while no one in the NYPD had any idea where to look, hell, it seemed like the NYPD or the mayor even WANTED to look! It was as if everyone was content to keep up the crumbling façade that everything was under control; the world's axis was threatening to spin in a different direction and nobody gave a damn about who it could hurt as long as it wasn't them-!
"Are you sure you want to go through with this, Vash? You will have to undergo a lot of prerequisite examinations and tests to even take the exam. That's not excluding what you'll have to do once you attend police academy," His mother reminded the eighteen-year old Vash as he readjusted his grip on his luggage, turning to his mother and nodding.
"I'm certain this is what I want to do, mother," he addressed, glancing around at the Genève Aéroport to preserve it in his memory as best as he could. It would be a while before he could return to Europe, to Switzerland, as New York was always lively with criminal activity and his father would want him to remain in the United States to maintain his positioning in the NYPD (if he even got accepted). Although he wasn't the best with smiling, he managed a small one directed towards his mother to bring her some reassurance. "I won't disappoint you."
That seemed to break whatever semblance of control, as the woman engulfed her son into a slightly-awkward hug with tears streaming down her cheeks. "Oh, you could never disappoint me!"
Guilt tugged at his heartstrings as he tentatively patted his mother's back; it was no secret that she was particularly protective of him especially when considering that, until Lilli was adopted, he was all she had after the divorce from his father made her move back to her native home in Geneva."I know, Mutti—I'll make sure to write often and I'll try to visit around Christmas if possible."
His mother pulled back after a little bit, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief. "N-now go on," she hiccupped, trying/failing to send him off with a wave of her hand. "You'll miss your flight, and I know how much you hate wasting money."
Vash nodded once more and picked up his suitcase again. "Well," he began, trying to think of something nice (but not cliché, Hallmark nice) to say before departing. "I guess I'll…be going then?"
With that, the blond male turned around in the direction of his flight, only to stop when he felt a small pair of arms wrap around his waist.
He blinked a few times, before a small, genuine smile made its way onto his features and he looked down to the seven-year old with the long gold braids currently hugging him like he was the last life raft on the Titanic. "Lilli…"
Lilli looked up, tears threatening to spill from her large, green eyes. The sight alone was enough to make the Swiss nearly drop his suitcase and forget about leaving altogether, but that urge left when a happy smile etched itself onto her youthful features.
"I love you, big brother!"
That did it for him.
Vash slammed his fist on the desk and stood up, his eyes narrowed as he redirected his gaze back to the portrait of his role model, of former Detective Kirkland with his phrase that was permanently engraved into the wood of the portrait and into his brain.
He opened up the bottom drawer of his desk where he kept all of his files relating to the detective, fumbling around until his fingers grasped a worn-out manila folder. He smiled to himself, a real smile that actually hurt his cheeks given it felt like ages since he had last worn it.
He didn't have much information on the former detective—that much was obvious, as the man had suddenly resigned and requested his personal files to be burned at the risk of anyone from tracking him down. However, what information he had been able to salvage had been stored in that bottom drawer, hidden from the NYPD and most importantly, hidden from the mayor.
Seven years ago when he was still a fledgling in the NYPD, he had been somewhat of a prodigy towards Detective Kirkland; he had been taken on cases that none of the other rookies had clearance on, given classified information that some higher-ups didn't know. Even years later, he had used the tips and secrets that Kirkland gave him which helped him climb the ranking ladder and reach the title of Department Chief at the age of twenty-eight, a feat that was the first of its kind in NYPD history.
Thanks to Kirkland's help, the amount of valuable connections he had been able to forge when he was twenty-one and fresh in the precinct allowed him certain privileges...like being the one to burn Detective Kirkland's files when he resigned that same year.
Of course, he had to do his job; he had gotten so far in so short a time, he didn't want all the efforts from his role-model to be in vain all because he wanted to keep every personal file to himself. So he stole one document (which was more of a post-it note than an actual document) that could be overlooked and never missed. But, when taking the factors into consideration—England's growing popularity, the mayor's reluctance, the NYPD's declining approval rating to send any real detectives out to stop him—Vash figured that now was about as good a time as any. If he could find the detective…he could enlist his aid and stop a war before it could truly begin.
He stared at the piece of paper, singed and brown from the flames it had nearly been thrown into, and wondered from where he could remember having spoken that name out loud:
Arthur Kirkland.
Author's Note: GOOD GOD, THIS CHAPTER TOOK SO MUCH OUT OF ME.
I greatly apologize for the confusion that was this chapter being put up. It took a really, really long time for me to even type up the first paragraphs. I honestly had no idea what I planned on doing. I mean—I had an idea, but I've always been stumped when it comes to beginning chapters. It's my kryptonite, and it incapacitates me every time I update. Particular round of thanks to HiItsUriChan, who offered their honest opinion and gave me the driving force to revise, edit, and make this chapter better than it was earlier. Seriously, thank you so much for that. Big shout-outs to Maya5392, Adri-Swan, Miyagino 'Mikura' Asakura, AoiCherry, prussianpancakes7 (X2, since you reviewed twice), yeet333, PandaYuki-Chibi, Harrenwolf, and meapzilla2mouse for all of you guys' awesome feedback; I'm so happy you guys like my story so much and that this has so much support.
I happen to have some bloopers, but I apologize if they aren't very good and that there aren't more of them.
Blooper #1: Now, everything about him felt heavy; his tongue felt like a useless slab of meat in his mouth, his arms and legs huge chunks of lead hastily stapled onto a torso, and his brain smashed by a slice of lemon wrapped in a large gold brick. It hurt enough to even breathe.
He inwardly groaned when his nose began to itch.
#2: Members of the New York Police Department were later contacted by an anonymous source, leading them to the museum where they uncovered the security guards who were unharmed. After thorough searching, they uncovered the four missing guards that hadn't ventured off towards the alarm. Three of the guards were discovered beside a broken glass container that was supposedly taken in for further analysis. As it was discovered that bullet holes were lodged into the air vent of the ceiling, the three have been taken in for interrogation. The fourth guard was found tied up in a corset with a ball of fabric in their mouth and has also been taken in for interrogation.
"It definitely wasn't the weirdest way to come out of unconsciousness," said Mathias Køhler, the fourth guard who was discovered in 19th century women's lingerie. "Since I grew up in Denmark and have seen some weird shit, but it was definitely close."
#3: "The last thing I remember was doing my rounds," said Mathias Køhler, the fourth guard who was discovered in 19th century women's lingerie. "Then something hit my head really, really hard, and I came to in the most tightly-laced corset I've ever been in."
Køhler denied whether or not his statement implied he had been in looser corsets, though the validity of his statement is questionable.
Who else but Mathias, am I right?
Anyway, thank you all so much for reading, I'll try to update with 27 soon and try to make it longer. Please favorite/follow at your leisure as I'd like you all to continue on this journey with me, and please don't hesitate to leave a PM or review (whether positive or negative, as I appreciate constructive criticism) as I appreciate opinions, insight, and information that never fail to help me out, whether with motivation or improvement. Not to mention how my heart leaps with joy whenever someone comments on my work~
Until then? Don't do anything, as you all are already awesome.