The moment they reached the pavilion, Arthur abandoned his companion and headed straight for the window he usually chose to watch Alfred through. Berwald was with him today, standing nearby to wait and make sure Arthur didn't try to do anything stupid. It was still fairly early, so they hadn't encountered many Angels on their way from Tino's house, but the green-eyed Angel didn't care. He just wanted to be at the window in time to see Alfred wake up. Had his supervisors allowed it, he would have slept by that window so he would never have to miss a moment, but so far they'd carried him back to the house once he'd fallen asleep.

But it was a new day and he was going to watch Alfred uninterrupted for hours. Tino had ventured to call his behaviors obsessive before Berwald and Arthur left that morning. Arthur hadn't responded to that. Of course he knew he was being obsessive by acting this way, but what could they expect? He was in love with the man and wasn't allowed to see him! He was going to take whatever he could get, even if that was just settling down by this window every morning and bringing up and image of his American wherever he was and whatever he was doing.

Unsurprisingly, the bedroom was dim even during the afternoon, but Alfred wasn't in bed like normal. Instead, he was sitting on the edge of the mattress, dressed in sweatpants and an old-looking shirt. Had he woken up early? No, the bags under his eyes were too dark for that.

Peering at the image, Arthur shifted his weight and tried to see his human a little more clearly. Why were the lights off if Alfred was awake? Why hadn't he gone to sleep? This wasn't right. It wasn't like Alfred and it worried him. The man had been so responsible about getting enough rest while Arthur was staying with him. He hadn't even gotten out of bed the past few days and the Angel had wondered if the American was ill. But Alfred just lay in bed all day, slept on and off but never looked rested, always looked completely exhausted.

What's wrong, Alfie? Are you sick? Are you hurt? Did something happen when I wasn't looking?

Unlikely. There wasn't a moment he was awake that Arthur wasn't watching the blue-eyed blond. He woke up, dressed, and came to the pavilion with either Tino or Berwald. Then he refused to leave even to eat, so Matthew and Gilbert had been enlisted to take a shift of watching him and bringing him food. It would have been easier for them to just let him go on his own, but the High Council was determined to keep him under supervision.

Arthur thought it was all rather pointless. He couldn't leave heaven without the Trace alerting his superiors. He couldn't go anywhere without them knowing about it.

Ugh, stop rehashing it, Arthur. Focus. Figure out what's wrong with Alfred. You promised him everything would be okay. How are you going to do that if you don't even know what's bothering him?

To do that, though, to figure out what was wrong and then do anything and everything he could to fix it, he need Alfred to give him a hint. The human was motionless, though, his head bowed, elbows resting on his knees and hands hanging limp. Seeing him like that was upsetting.

Sighing, the green-eyed Angel laid on his side and curled his body around the mirror, his head pillowed on his arm. His free hand rested on the surface of the window as if he could reach right through it and stroke Alfred's cheek, lift his chin so he could look into those blue eyes and tell him everything was going to be okay. Everything had to be okay. If it wasn't…he didn't know what he'd do.

X

Fuck, he hadn't slept a wink. Maybe it was because he'd hardly spent any time out of bed the last…four days? Five? They'd sort of run together in the darkness of the bedroom. Last night he'd tossed and turned for hours, only managing to drift in and out of an uneasy sleep plagued by nightmares. He hadn't even managed to sleep long enough to get to the meadow Artie had given him, which was where he spent most of his sleeping hours. It was peaceful there, and he liked to sit under the tree.

But he hadn't managed it last night, and now he felt like complete shit.

As if you haven't felt like shit for weeks. You've felt like the shit stuck to the hobo's shoe since you found out he was gone.

And the feeling intensified as his thoughts found their way to him. Yeah, he couldn't even bring himself to think the name. Not since he'd made the mistake of confusing him with Ivan on Christmas morning.

God, he couldn't do this. A hand went over his eyes and rubbed, trying to make the world come into focus like it hadn't been for he didn't know how long. His whole body felt gross because he hadn't been bothering to shower and there was blond stubble on his chin that he normally would have taken care of the moment he noticed it. It was just lucky he'd never grown much facial hair or the stubble would have been more along the lines of a scraggly beard and Alfred hated the way he looked with facial hair.

The sound of his phone ringing broke the silence but the blond made no move to go and get it. He'd left it on the coffee table Christmas day and had barely touched it since. Besides, it was probably just Antonio calling to see if he would be at work that night. Alfred had no intentions of going. He hadn't gone back to work after the night off they were given for Christmas and if he kept feeling as worthless as he did then he wouldn't go back.

Stop calling, Tonio. I'm not coming. Just let me be miserable by myself.

It was pathetic, he knew, but he couldn't help it. What more could he do? The apartment was silent again and it wasn't peaceful like Alfred wished it was. Instead, the silence pressed in on him, tangible and suffocating. Had it always been this lonely? Probably. He just hadn't noticed because at first having a place to himself was all he'd wanted, then he'd had Arthur for company…now he was alone. There was nothing worse than the kind of loneliness that felt like abandonment, as if the one thing that really mattered had vanished like it never existed, and that hurt more than Alfred could ever say.

He definitely couldn't do this. Not for the rest of his life, not even for another day.

Even if I don't get to heaven, maybe they'll let Arthur be the one. I'll get to see him.

It was all the motivation he needed to make up his mind.

Standing, he stretched until the majority of his joints had popped, rolling his neck. Every muscle was stiff and slow to respond, but he had plans to change that, and left the bedroom with a more purposeful stride than he'd had in days. The apartment was dark, stale—the blond threw open the curtains to find that afternoon had passed into evening, so he turned on every light he could find. It hurt his eyes for a moment but his pupil's soon adjusted, and then he realized what a mess his apartment had become during his pseudo-hibernation.

"I can't leave it like this," he muttered to himself, starting to pick up the few dishes left out from lonely meals, the empty pop cans and wrappers. The kitchen was going to need a complete cleaning since he'd cooked but hadn't bothered to wash dishes, it needed to be swept and everything else needed to be vacuumed. He didn't even want to think about how much attention the bathroom was going to need.

That was all right, though. He would clean everything first so that no one else would have to.

I'll make as little mess as possible.

It would only be right. Leaving a mess for his friends to deal with would be cruel, especially after the trouble he'd already caused them. They'd been so good to him but it just…wasn't enough. There was nothing else for it. He would fix things in his own way. So he picked up the living room, washed every dirty dish he could find and wiped down all the counters, swept the floor and took out the trash. He even found a candle to light so that it would smell nice and left it burning to go vacuum the rest of the apartment. The bed was made, the laundry started and the bathroom scrubbed until it was the cleanest it had ever been during his time there.

Oddly, getting everything as clean as possible reminded him that he hadn't been living there that long. Less than a year. Barely over six months. He hadn't expected to leave it so soon, but his mind was made up and there was no changing it.

By the time he finished cleaning, the sun had long set and the streetlights had come on. Just as he was moving from the bedroom to the bathroom to shower, a mute boom sounded and the American ducked a little, thinking for one irrational moment that a bomb had gone off. But there was no following destruction, just more booms and pops. Fireworks. It was New Year's Eve.

Perfect. No one will suspect.

X

Arthur was still trying to figure out what was going through Alfred's head. The man hadn't gotten out of bed for days and now he'd spent the last few hours cleaning his apartment so thoroughly even the green-eyed Angel would have a hard time finding something out of place or dirty. It didn't make sense. The Alfred he knew would never have let his apartment get so dirty in the first place, but going on such a cleaning splurge was unusual, too.

Maybe I don't know him as well as I thought…he could do this every few months…just take a week off and sleep as much as he can then suddenly get up and go back to his life…

Possible but he knew it was unlikely. So unlikely that he dismissed the thought mere moments after he'd had it and refocused on the image in the window. Alfred had gone into the bathroom and turned on the shower, was stripping down as the water heated up and Arthur couldn't help but start to feel a little warm. Even though he hadn't been taking care of himself, the American was impressive. It made Arthur wish he was there even more and brought up the memories of their few days together as lovers. They were bittersweet images and feelings but he treasured them all the same.

"What are you doing, Alfred?" he asked softly, watching as the human stepped into the shower and scrubbed himself down as carefully as he'd cleaned a few minutes ago, shampooed his hair and even made sure there was nothing stuck under his nails.

It was almost meticulous, and when he was finished he stepped out, dried off and went to the sink, the towel around his waist as he shaved. Arthur had never seen the blue-eyed blond shave before, but that wasn't at all surprising. What was surprising was that the American stood motionless for a few minutes after he'd finished and cleaned up after himself, just stood there, staring at his reflection. He appeared to be deep in thought and Arthur wished desperately that he could delve into the man's mind. But he had to watch in confusion and curiosity as Alfred left the bathroom and dressed, then added the clothes he'd been wearing before and his towel to the laundry. There wouldn't be any dirty clothes left in the apartment once it was finished.

He's getting ready for something. All this cleaning and shaving…he has to be preparing, but for what? He hasn't spoken to anyone in days. Why is he so worried about the mess?

His knees were starting to hurt from kneeling on the marble floor of the pavilion but Arthur paid it no mind. He was much too focused on Alfred, on the way the American was wandering his apartment as if looking for something more to do, like he was putting something off. There was nothing, though—the apartment was pristine and he eventually made his way to the front closet.

Eyes narrowing, Arthur watched as Alfred took his work belt off the high shelf, the one that had his gun and handcuffs and flashlight on it. What was he doing? He only ever took the belt out when he was going to work but he hadn't put on his uniform so that couldn't be it. Arthur had only ever seen him take the gun out once, on the night Ivan broke his wing, and the memory of that was fuzzy at best. Seeing him take the gun from the holster then put the belt back into the closet had him leaning as close to the window as he could.

Alfred had his gun. Why did Alfred have his gun. This was not good. No way was this good. He'd been depressed for days and now he had his gun—

"Alfred!" Several pairs of eyes turned to stare at him for shouting but Arthur didn't notice. Fear was prominent in his voice and he couldn't help but slam his palm against the window as if it would somehow gain the American's attention as the bespectacled blond went into the bathroom and locked the door. "Alfred, don't!"

No no no no this couldn't happen! He wouldn't! He was too strong for this he had too much to live for!

"Arthur," a quiet voice sounded behind him and he felt a hand on his shoulder, "are you all right?"

Ignoring the interruption, Arthur pounded against the window a few more times. "You bastard! Alfred, I'll never forgive you! I swear on my life, you blue-eyed git! Put the gun away this instant!"

Other Angels were starting to come over to see what Arthur was so upset about, muttering and saying that someone should fetch Romulus, asking Matthew what was wrong.

"Arthur, please calm down," the quiet Angel pleaded, trying to get his charge to stop hitting the window but not managing to do so. "You're scaring everyone."

"I don't bloody care, Matthew! Do you see what he's doing!?" Arthur demanded, pointing at the image of Alfred stepping into the shower and closing the curtain, still fully dressed and with the gun in hand. "The idiot's going to—!" He couldn't bring himself to say the word but his panic was starting to get the better of him, flooding his veins with adrenaline the way it had the night Ivan followed Alfred home and had tried to hurt him. That was why he'd shoved Alfred out of the way. And now the idiot had gotten an idea like this into his head!

His hands clenching into fists as he watched, Arthur felt himself starting to tremble, felt every muscle in his body tense. No. He wasn't letting this happen. He hadn't given Alfred that meadow and stopped Ivan from hurting him just for the American to do something so stupid!

Before anyone could stop him, he burst from the small crowd that had gathered and flew as fast as his wings could carry him, ignoring the shouts that followed. The Trace and the High Council be damned—Alfred wasn't getting away with this!

X

Deep breaths.

Everything was taken care. The apartment was spotless. All his clothes were clean and in the dryer—there would be only one mess to take care of once he was found. He didn't want to cause trouble for anyone.

This was the best way to do it. The fireworks would cover up the noise, no one would notice. They wouldn't find him right away, probably not until Antonio came looking for him for not answering his phone. He didn't want Antonio to be the one to find him, but then, he wasn't sure who he'd want that person to be. Not Feliciano—the Italian wouldn't be able to handle it. Maybe Ludwig. Or his landlord. His landlord would probably be best. He'd be the most professional about handling things from there, but Antonio or Ludwig would probably be all right. Just not Feliciano. He didn't want the little brunet to have to deal with such a gruesome memory.

Should have bought pills. There wouldn't be any mess that way.

But he didn't want to take the time to go buy enough. He already had a gun and bullets—this would be quick and easy. And he was doing it in the shower, so they could just rinse it out and bleach it. Simple to clean up. A closed-casket funeral for his few friends. They could separate out his belongings however they wanted. Most of it would probably go to Ivan, but that was fine. The Russian had bought him a lot of the things he owned, anyway. They'd been gifts, apologies.

Alfred didn't want to live in a world of apologies and loneliness anymore.

"I'm gonna come see you, Arthur. Even if it's just for a little while. I know this won't get me into heaven, I know I won't be an Angel for doing this, but if you're listening, I want you to know that I love you. Whatever happens after this, wherever my soul ends up, I love you. I don't want to live without you and I hope they let you be the one to take me to wherever I go from here."

The thought made him smile and he took a moment to imagine that, imagined getting to see the green-eyed Angel again, hold his hand, talk to him. It wouldn't last long, but that was all right. One last smile was all he wanted.

"See you in a few, Artie," he whispered, then cocked the gun and slid the barrel into his mouth. The metallic taste coated his tongue and he felt the urge to swallow to get rid of it; a shiver of fear ran down his spine but thinking about Arthur quickly calmed him. Still, he felt his heart beating faster, knew his body was preparing itself to escape from danger.

I should have laid down, was the last thought to cross his mind before he closed his eyes and squeezed his finger on the trigger.