Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. "And a man's foes shall be they of his own household." Matthew 10:36 KJV Or Dragonheart. Or The Walking Dead.
Warning: Profanity! Violence! Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Familial drama...and then more drama and then topped off with additional drama.
AN: Whoohoo! Got this chap done! Thank you for your reviews! Here's to the start of this week! Enjoy!
Chapter 30: Spain Got The Raw Deal
England paced back and forth and snapped, "Explain it again."
It would be the fourth time.
He didn't care.
"Explain. It. Again."
Rhys released a shuddering breath and looked down at Alfred, who was being cradled on the Welshman's lap. His blue eyes were staring listlessly at the ceiling.
It was hard to judge who looked more devastated.
"Rhys," he demanded.
But the man wasn't listening.
"...Yn fy nghalon am byth." He brushed pale slender fingers through Alfred's hair affectionately and looked down at him sorrowfully.
"I need to hear it again." Arthur didn't want to. Honest to God, he never wanted to hear such horror again. But if they were going to solve the mystery of that hex, the damage done to Alfred's memory, and whatever fell wish Alfred had made...he had to. He had to understand every puzzle piece Alfred tripped over.
And Rhys didn't want to save him an interrogation and simply show him.
When he'd asked, he'd been given a disconsolate look and a grave shake of 'No' while he muttered, "You...don't want this, brawd bach."
"I'll try to write it out later but lots of it was mixed up chronologically. Though...he had some grasp on what happened when. So that is a sign of recovery. He was aware of the differences between years during that War. Usually, it melds together completely from what we've experienced."
England hands clenched and he walked back over. He forced a gentler tone, "Alfred, darlingheart. Please talk to me. Or look at me. Or-or something! Please!"
Alfred continued staring up and breathing softly.
"Alfie-"
"...you all laughed at me…" the boy mumbled. Hurt and shame lanced through their bond.
"Wot? No, my sweetling. My heart." Arthur sat down beside them and pulled the child into his arms.
It was a lot like shifting a sack of potatoes. Alfred didn't help in the effort at all.
Rhys kept a hand on one shin and patted it consolingly, "The breathing issues are psychosomatic. Because he's there in the White House as it burns. Even when there were other memories, that was the returning spot. There, in the library where he died. The door of the dining hall. The corridor between. The library. Those were all important stops before he died. And there was a grandfather clock chiming the hour."
"...laughing at me…"
Arthur grimaced and shook his head. "How could I be laughing at you, pet? I-" he swallowed, "I didn't even know you were there. I...I didn't know…"
"You were laughing," he repeated. "Seated there in your shining regalia...you doubly outranked me then…"
"Wot?"
"...you were not in your navy uniform, Admiral Kirkland..."
It was said lightly almost with a singsong playful quality but with an inflection blended from tones Arthur remembered from the 1770s and the cruelty of Blue.
Blue...who always remembered...and never forgave...
Arthur suppressed a shiver at the darkness in that formal address. The hardness in those eyes. "Son-"
"No...you were in that damnable red of a field martial...when I saw you…last..."
Arthur shook his head. "Alfie…"
"You know I hate you in red...you wear it when you want to irritate me…"
His mouth went dry and he gave the child one soft but firm shake. "America-"
The boy stilled and then shuddered and the...the...possession? For what else could he call it? Passed.
Alfred sniffled and whined, "...you were...supposed to adore me..."
"I do adore you." He kissed the pale stricken little face. "I adore you so. You were right. You were always right. Father loves you."
"...You were...supposed to…"
"Father adores you," Arthur assured. He held him close. "Adores you so, yes, of course I do."
Alfred's shattered expression...gutted him.
"You were right," England insisted forcefully. "About me. About everything. About everything, sweet. Everything. You know me. You know me best. I know they told you terrible things and I know we had our troubles. But you knew me then. You knew me, sweetling. My heart of hearts has always been your garden. You're safe there." He held the child against that heart. "You're safe here."
"...you always speak...so eloquently…" there was a rebuke in the wrinkled lines on that small nose and the downward curve of that mouth.
And it's like arguing over a table strewn with incendiary criticisms from his colony's newspapers as the candles flicker.
Because Alfred was so close right now...mere inches...rather than a table apart...he realized that when his child spoke at him through clenched teeth...top lip curling back in a snarl...Arthur realized how much he looked like him…
And it was hard to tell whether that was nature or nurture at work…
Whatever it was…
However it came upon Alfred…
He knew from whence it stemmed.
He swallowed thickly and tried to push sincerity into every syllable. "I speak best when there's love in my heart."
It was supposed to be reassuring, but those eyes bulged like he'd profaned something sacred.
"I love you," Arthur breathed.
"As do I," Rhys added as he continued patting the child gently. "I love you, chwb."
"..." Alfred's gaze returned to contemplating the ceiling.
"Talk to me," the Briton pleaded. "Talk to me, please."
"...would you have really helped me?" he asked and there was something raw and wretched in the growl.
"God, yes! Is it even a question?"
It definitely would've caused a stir. Having Alfred abruptly there in that moment of triumph and excess…
He doesn't doubt he might've gloated a moment but…
If Alfred had looked even half as desperate as he looked now…
The wine would've turned to ash in his mouth.
He trembled to think of Alfred in that moment of despair...
If he'd come through the doors then…
Desperate and doomed and in dread.
Rushing over to his fatherland for protection from his folly...
God, if he'd done as Lome advised and begged...
It was one thing in moments of wounded vanity to fantasize about a teenaged America taking a knee and apologizing in the privacy of England's office for causing him such heartbreak and pain…and wanting their familial ties mended...
But that wasn't something for mortals to gawk and jeer at.
He thought of the One-Eyed Wench and how the pub's denizens were amused by their estrangement the previous year.
No. He held the child near and tucked the golden haired head under his chin.
No, nobody got to laugh at their pain.
He was holding too tightly. He knew that. And yet, the boy felt so boneless, it felt like Arthur's arms were the only things keeping him together.
And then Alfred's watch beeped and he jerked to life.
"Texas," he breathed, drawing back.
And there was an odd gleam in those eyes.
"He needs his dose of-"
"Darlingheart, Spain will-"
"I will...get it."
He wanted to keep that little hurting heart close to his. But Alfred succeeded in wriggling free because Arthur didn't want to risk injuring him.
England and Wales were quick on his heels as he fled the room for the kitchen. His bare feet made no sound against the wood or tiles and Arthur knew he was subconsciously drawing on either Native American tracking lessons or air magic to propel him forward.
He darted around the corner and they found him standing on the counter to reach the pantry. Had he flown? Or leapt up?
He teetered dangerously as he swung open the cabinetry doors.
He and his brother immediately set their hands on his legs to anchor him, to keep him steady and safe.
They startled when the child shrilly exclaimed, "TEEEEXAS!"
"WHAAAT?!" was the answering call.
"Medicine!"
"NO!"
"MEDICINE!"
"NOOOOO!"
"I will steal ALL your socks! ALL OF THEM! HAVE FUN WEARING YOUR BOOTS THEN! CHAFE AWAY!"
A grumbling Texas appeared and begrudgingly accepted a dose, not even acknowledging the weird formation they had made. Both U.K. representatives with a hand on America's legs, to make sure he didn't fall backward onto the hard tile or hit the granite island.
Alfred poured a spoonful for himself next.
Arthur made a face. "You really shouldn't use the same spoon, dea-"
"Hey," Tex blinked tiredly, "Ally...you okay?"
"Yeah," he chirped as he put the medicine away and closed the pantry door.
"You're a little...hmmm, I dunno."
"A little what?"
"Creepy," he answered candidly.
Alfred laughed breathlessly, with overbright eyes. "You're funny."
"Yeah, you're creepy alright. Your face is...kinda twitching. Did your favorite character bite it in the Walking Dead? S'okay. Grieve it out."
"No."
"Did Japan beat you again at online sudoku?"
"Heh, no. I mean, I haven't played him for a while. He's crazy good, so I gotta take breaks for my ego to recover. He says I'm getting better-"
"Did you have a bad flashback?"
Arthur blinked.
So…
Those first two were just to get Alfred to lower his guard...
Alfred's face did twitch. And his smile began to sag at one corner. He hastily tried to force it back up and his features twitched again and the lips rebelled with a tremble until he took a deep breath through his nose and his face stilled.
It was a plastically, cheerful expression.
"Eeeeeyup, kinda creepy," Tex diagnosed.
"I...I…" he swallowed. "I dunno, if I wanna talk about it yet…"
"You wanna eat something?"
"...no."
"You wanna play a video game?"
"No."
"You wanna watch a movie?"
America took a shaky breath, "...no."
"...Sounds like you wanna talk about it then."
Alfred reached his arms out for his brother who plucked him out of Arthur and Rhys's hold, spun on his heel and marched away..
Wales and England looked at one another uncertainly.
And Arthur's heart cracked as he overheard the soft, "...I just...I don't know where to go from here…"
Arthur lurched forward to follow them down the hall and their bedroom door shut in his face.
However, he did overhear Tex say as the door locked, "Catch me up on where 'Here' is and we'll figure somethin' out. Cuz you ain't alone in this" before loud music was cranked up to make the rest of their conversation private
With a heavy heart, he trudged back to the living room and made a call to Mr. Gray. He'd alerted the staff several days prior on reuniting with Alfred, since they'd been concerned about the manner of Alfred's departure. Mr. Gray had been particularly alarmed that Alfred's illness had worsened and relieved when he'd texted that the boy's fever broke.
He...he knew how much the child meant to him…
It was largely why he dared to ask if the man was willing to do him a grand favor.
"Yes," he answered. "It's...it's a right mess and we've yet to have one repair officially scheduled..."
Arthur walked back and forth as he spoke, skirting crates.
Wales was sitting in a chair with his face in one hand...at least until Scotland passed by.
Arthur blinked at the uncharacteristic expression of wrath that crossed his eldest brother's face.
Alistair was his favorite.
What on Earth—
Rhys sprang to his feet, calling harshly to their Scottish sibling.
"Thank you," Arthur ended his call. He watched Reilley creep out from the woodwork, setting down a magazine to pursue them.
Arthur glanced helplessly down the hall to the room he was barred from. He sighed and followed his brothers in the opposite direction.
They were up to something.
Canada was seated on the edge of a brick planter, hidden by the overgrowth of the edge.
He was sketching to relieve stress. He and Al still weren't in a great place. His little brother, when he bothered to look his way, had sharp distrustful eyes.
It reminded him of the 1770s whenever he defended England's laws and actions...particularly the closing of Boston's ports, he'd get those narrowed eyes.
This time though...
He'd really earned the wariness.
Giving that stupid pacifier...that had been a dumb idea…
He ran a hand through his hair.
But enough time had passed...He wasn't sure if "Sorry" would cut it now.
He shook his head.
C'mon Mathieu, you can spew sorries for a million things that don't matter and can't manage one genuine one for Alfred? He thought. You're supposed to be a brilliant tactician...come up with a plan to fix this already, eh?
He sighed.
Earlier, since both his brothers were both ill, he'd decided to help out and do some yard work, discovering during the task that Tex's house had a multitude of mosaic designs to choose from; most were covered with films of dirt and dust which was why they hadn't stood out to Mathieu at first.
After Mathieu started washing them down with the hose, vivid almost garish colors were revealed.
Lots of star motifs.
Lone star state...
He sighed. He felt bad for Spain.
The man was trying hard to keep in good spirits but Texas…
Mathieu frowned.
Here the man's arm was still healing up but Tex had no problem ordering him around to arrange and rearrange furniture pieces.
Mon Dieu, it was cruel.
"Here. No. Here. No, you were right the first time. Over there. Can you hold that? A little higher? Hmm. No. A little lower…"
Not caring one bit when the Spaniard began to grimace or sweat or pant with effort.
And he wasn't choosing small furniture pieces and mirrors and things. But large, expensive things that could be damaged if Spain didn't put his all into holding them carefully.
Tex only abandoned his mean game when Canada began helping the Spanish nation.
Canada had received a tired 'Gracias' before Spain wearily returned to the kitchen to check on the soup.
Tex never even thanked his father...for anything.
Maybe...they would never have a rapport. Maybe...it was just as well since...they just didn't seem to have the same values…
Mathieu couldn't imagine treating any of his father figures so...harshly...
Angry voices approached and the Canadian shrunk back but peered through the branches of the hedge.
Rhys, who was usually the calm one, was LIVID.
It was strange because usually his Welsh former guardian...uncle? Was normally very careful that none of the U.K.'s wards or even former wards saw him lose his composure entirely.
Though, Rhys likely didn't realize he was there. He was kind of...tucked away. And Mathieu had realized some time ago that when Rhys was preoccupied with other matters, his magic could be...distracted.
The man didn't sense him there.
Scotland stumbled a bit from the hard shove the Welshman gave him.
"Liar!" Rhys declared.
Scotland straightened and while he frowned, he didn't refute the claim.
"You sodding liar," Rhys growled.
"..."
"He didn't break out of your camp!"
Alistair and Reilley shared a look before turning to him.
"So you knew too?!" he hissed at the Irishman.
Reilley sighed, "Rhys, it was…"
"Eire...Alba! Alba, you-" Rhys shoved Alistair again.
"O lay off him," Reilley barked. "He's not the one what led Alfie boy away. We started out together o' course but he got cold feet halfway through the wood. 'Twas me that led him that final bit. So Alistair wouldn't be able to track him after."
Mathieu frowned. What were they talking about?
He heard the screen door open and shut once more.
Alistair stared at the wall. "He had a better chance out there. If Arthur had known about...who knows what he coulda done. I mean, he...he could have made him sign whatever he wanted. He wasn't in good shape. If he'd have been a prisoner like that...not in his right state of mind..."
"So you left him wandering?! You abandoned him to the wilderness?! When you knew he needed me?!" England shrieked, charging into the middle of the fray.
Mathieu flinched.
Alistair swore softly.
Mathieu began feeling very uncomfortable as a witness to what they thought was a private meeting? Battle? Clash?
"You knew…knew how much he needed me and you didn't even do me, NO, Alfred the decency of seeing him to somewhere safe!?"
"He should've healed up in a month or two-"
"Except he didn't!" Rhys hissed. "The eye didn't return until-"
Oh...so this was about 1812…
Mathieu leaned forward, ignoring the feel of leaves against his face and the sharp smell of greenery.
Alistair was noticeably flustered. "I came back and got everything straightened out for him. Problems that-"
"Problems that arose because of you!" Arthur snapped. "Detective Jenkins continues to update me and I've gone through that binder! Turned out of house and home! His things—our things taken on account of them thinking him dead. I had provisions for him!"
Scotland looked away.
"What became of them, hmm? I've seen no evidence of those accounts being credited back—"
Scotland turned back, red with anger. "Fine! I couldn't get back everything. Those greedy misers gobbled it up. Repairs! Labor! You burnt down the White House. They thought it fitting your stores build it back up. Could I argue that? No! I had to let those go. I got the cabin back for Alfred. Better than him living on some godforsaken acre in...damn that was where Kirkland Hall was...shit, even they didn't know there was a house on it or they'd have taken that quicker than a wink…" He shook his head. "Look! I got him back on his feet!"
"I'd have gotten every dollar...every half-penny back!" Arthur hissed. "I still intend to. With interest! Robber barons already at work. My boy was even't cold when they stripped him of the protections I had in place. How could you not alert me? How could you squander an opportunity to set him into my care-"
"I wasn't clapping him in irons and tugging him forward on a tether for the British Empire to amuse himself with a pet lunatic!" Alistair growled bitterly.
There was a tense silence until Arthur exploded, "How...dare….you...HOW DARE YOU!?"
Rhys was similarly furious, "You talk so much about providing what he needed? You know what needed? He needed a bloody doctor. That's what he needed. And I daresay he never got proper medical-"
"Yeh all heard him yourself. The cage. The menagerie. He knew what he could lose. If yeh'd have preyed on him then and he lost his sovereignty—Yeh'd have broke him-"
Both Wales and England moved threateningly near him.
Still, even as Scotland was ganged up on, Northern Ireland resolutely stuck it out with him. "We had reasons!"
"You knew FOR YEARS!" Rhys hissed.
"Why?" Arthur demanded. "You knew what happened to him. You knew he was...insecure. You knew his government wasn't treating him well I expect? So why? Why didn't you involve me? Damn you, man, you tell me why!"
"Because I didn't know if yeh were to be trusted! I wasn't even sure you really loved him until last year."
A dangerous silence followed that.
Because…
While the British Empire was cunning, cruel, ruthless...
While Arthur was possessive, manipulative, narcissistic, selfish, arrogant, and greedy. He loved Alfred. He'd always loved Alfred.
Again, Mathieu felt a twinge that he hadn't told him about America's Civil War.
The Scotsman, took Arthur's first punch stoically.
He even took the second punch.
But he dodged the third.
"You!" Arthur swung at him. "YOU!" And again. "YOOOU!"
Alistair caught his youngest brother's fists and held his ground...not fighting back but...not allowing himself to be attacked.
"And a man's foes shall be they of his own household." Arthur's head was bowed. "So. So...you were one of those voices whispering those nasty lies...telling him he couldn't come home to me…"
"No," Scotland replied levelly.
"But you certainly weren't trying to help us!" Rhys spat.
Mathieu peered around the hedge to see Scotland gray-eyed glare.
Rhys's eyes narrowed and his face was red with anger.
Alistair released a harsh breath, looked up at the sky, down at his feet and then back at Rhys. The fight had gone out of him.
"...what was I supposed to say?" Alistair muttered dully. "When he asked me things...what was I s'posed to say?"
"The fuck do you mean?! You tell him I love him!" Arthur breathed raggedly. "That's what you say. You say, 'Alfred, your father loves you more than-'"
"What if I'd been WRONG!?" Alistair roared back. "What if I looked him in the face and lied that to him. As if I was sure. That it was him and not the possessing of him what you were after, huh? If I tol' him that and he went to yeh then like-like-lookin' like he did...and he wasn't your bonnie blue eyed bairn with sunshine hair anymore? Your America the Beautiful...charbroiled...if he came to you looking and smelling like hell spat him out…would he have been your darlingheart then?!"
Mathieu shuddered...Texas had alluded to that several times...Alfred's...injuries following that war.
If Alfred had come to Arthur then...at his lowest, injured, ruined, wretched...and was rejected.
"You think I'd turn him away?" It was said in deceptively soft tones before Arthur left livid and entered spitting rage and tackled him.
He seemed ready to rip him apart.
Alistair tried to block the blows raining down on him. "Well, where was your arse, if yeh cared so damn much? It was me! It was Eire! Who went back and looked after him!"
"Where was my ignorant arse? Fighting Napoleon, wanker! Colonizing! Oblivious. Because I DID. NOT. KNOW! I didn't bloody know what had happened to him. You kept that to yourself, you berk! You prick! You di-"
"Every memory of me was fucking gone!" Rhys hissed, as he loomed over his brothers who were fighting at his feet. He delivered a hard kick to Alistair's leg. "And you didn't tell me! Til last year! And then! You were all 'O, he has trouble remembering you, Rhys'"
"Ack, that was Eire that tol' yeh that. Not me! Not me, Gwal-"
"It was," Reilley conceded. "I might've been a wee bit...optimistic in my relayin' it—"
Rhys didn't pause. "-except it wasn't just a few memories here and there! It was me. ENTIRELY! GONE!"
Alistair flinched.
Reilley blinked. "Okay. Tha's valid. We ought to have told you that."
"-nking my nephew hated me! Thinking we were estranged! I spent centuries thinking that! That it was over. That I couldn't change that!"
Both redheads shrugged a bit uncomfortably.
"Sorry, dearthair."
"Sorry, brathair."
"No! Nononono. Sorry is not enough. I didn't feel comfortable setting foot here for two centuries! I'd come for Mathieu's hockey season and know I couldn't visit the other. That I'd be unwelcome. But no! No! Lo and behold I was worse than unwelcome. I was a soddin' stranger!"
Mathieu winced. That…
He doesn't know how he'd feel if Alfred genuinely forgot him. Sure, his brother teased him about not knowing who he was but…
If he ever really looked at him without any recognition in his eyes...
"Rhys-"
"Two centuries! I could've started over. Made a new relationship with him! If I'd have known-"
Reilley came over and shoved Rhys away before working to pull Arthur off Alistair. " 've got off your arse and come over. There were Gold Rushes, Silver Rushes, depressions, wars, diseases-"
"Gau i fyny, Eire!"
"No. Be angry at me too," Reilley barked.
"I am. Teeming," Rhys assured, boxing one ear. "But he's older than you. He's supposed to be less of a pilloc-"
The screen door shut loudly and Alfred came out with suspiciously red eyes.
Mathieu gasped and leaned forward in concern.
Had he been crying? Had he been...listening too?
And Tex followed two steps behind arms crossed.
Alfred couldn't quite pin his usual, loud, confident flippancy when he complained, "I-is there a reason everybody's screaming? I mean, yeah, we don't have neighbors and we're rednecks. But this is a pretty h-high decibel even by our trailer trash dysfunctional family standards."
"Sorry Alfie-boy, we're just...reminiscing over here."
Alfred wiped at his nose.
Arthur abruptly abandoned Alistair, jerked himself out of Reilley's hold and crossed over to Alfred.
He handed him a handkerchief.
"T-t-thanks."
Arthur picked him up and took him inside, leaving them all staring after them.
Texas looked a little too smug as he strolled over.
"If y'all can't mind your manners," he purred. "I'm gonna have to have y'all leave."
There was something very mean in the way a gleeful smile kept tugging at his lips, revealing sharp teeth, that let Mathieu know...that quite suddenly Tex had Alfred's blessing to turn them out at will.
Texas had never invited them. He'd made it clear multiple times that they weren't his guests.
Mathieu shivered.
He'd endured because they were America's family and America wanted them there.
And now America didn't.
Now, Reilley wasn't a man above arguing trifles. A lifetime spent in his brothers' company meant he was used to fighting for every bit of ground and triumph he could get, exploiting loopholes, taking potshots...
But…
It was pretty rotten that Texas used the lot of them not being able to agree on a movie the previous night to be the catalyst reason for him forcing them all out.
India would say it was karmic that the lot of them were now sharing one cramped hotel room as they tried to figure out what the hell happened and what they were to do now.
To a certain extent, he understood why Tex had no trouble kicking their arses off his premises.
But…
Anyway he looked at it...
Spain got the raw deal.
Reilley barely caught his suitcase and it was only because Alistair reached out to steady him, he didn't fall on his arse from the impact. The fuck?
Though the worst part was.
"But-but-but Toni, mijo, I didn't DO anything. I was okay with anything!"
"Exactly. You didn't take our side, Papi."
"Fine! Fine! I take your side now!"
"Too late! Trespassin' all y'all." He pulled out a cell phone and dialed. "Well, howdy do, officer. I'd like to make a report-"
They'd had to scram then.
Though having an inconsolable Spain did get them a discount on the room and his distressed phone call to Stuart got them moved to the penthouse suite.
Scotland saw a silver lining in that; he was currently using the room's ice for the injuries England had dealt him.
"Toni, please answer," Spain mumbled to his phone, recording yet another message that was likely deleted without ever being listened to. "Papi can't change what he's doing that upsets you, if you do not tell him what it is."
Reilley grimaced. It was material worthy for a ballad. Somehow he didn't think Spain would appreciate being the centerpiece of a tragedy.
There came a knock—expecting it to be room service with their breakfast, Canada opened the door.
"Aloha! Yeah, they jetted me over here for damage control."
They were all surprised to see Hawaii in a skirt suit and bun, looking more prim and professional than any other time they'd seen her.
Especially, since she was wielding a clipboard with grand authority. She tucked a strand of hair framing her face behind her ear with manicured fingers. "I know. I know. Tex threw you all out. I'm sorry. I know it's a pain in the ass. If it's a consolation, I've had it done. From what it sounds like, yours was pretty gentle. No one was physically carried off the premises." Her eye twitched. "But I know. And I totally understand how...unprofessional and-and...juvenile...and inconvenient...and unconventional...and on behalf of the government all airfares will be provided and there's-"
"I do not want anymore fruit baskets!" Spain snapped at the same time England growled, "Bloody hell if I'm going anywhere."
Hawaii gave him a reluctant smile. "Anybody who does want to take up the offer? We have several different airlines and will happily provide hotel expenses. Anyone?"
She seemed a little impressed by the silence and leaned on the door frame. "Okay, gentlemen. So here's the deal. I'm letting you in on a secret. They do this."
"So we've gathered," Rhys grumbled.
"Easy Dragonheart, they don't know that Alaska and I know. Now, he's busy with pipeline issues so I've got a new plant this time," Hawaii continued, "See? This whole 'I'm offended, be gone from my house' is a cheap trick that Alaska says they've been using since the 1860s. They pull this when they want to run off somewhere."
Arthur nodded and muttered gravely, "Adventure?"
"Yeah...whenever life gets...complicated...they go on...adventures…or sign up for missions."
"They are runners," Spain sighed.
"Yeah," Hawaii smiled wistfully. "If the situation was different and they were adults, we'd be fine with letting them run wild. But Al's still...adjusting to...big changes and Tex-"
"He is sick," Spain put forward.
Hawaii blinked, "Is he really? When I talked to him on the phone the other day...I wasn't sure if he was faking. He did that to me once when he didn't want to help me fight a traffic ticket."
"Not faking."
Hawaii nodded, "Okay, okay. You know what? That's good. That's actually really good."
"It is not good. He is sick!"
"How ill?"
Spain shook his head. "He has a fever that won't break...and now he won't let me take care of him."
"That's fantastic!"
"It is terrible!" Spain squawked. "I am very worried about-"
"Nononono. I know him. He's gonna try and burn it out with whiskey. If he's drunk, he can't drive and if he can't drive...that pair is grounded until he's feeling better." She leaned out into the hall and called to someone out there, "We have more time than I thought! Hey, sweetie, over here." She turned back to the group. "It even makes it a credible cover story."
A young man who looked to be in his late teens or early twenties sporting five o'clock shadow, joined her in the doorway. She slung an arm around him, "Puerto Rico" she gave him a squeeze "is going to be our inside man and stall them."
"Hola, everyone…" he gave a wave. "I know I can do this. I'll just bring up statehood. That sets Tejas off every time. Mi hermanito will argue for hours and if I get him really mad and he's not able to do what he wants to do, he'll blurt out what it is that he's trying to do. Leave this to me, I will find out where they are headed-"
"Change of plans, baby. You don't need to rile him up too much. He's sick. You just have to check in on him. Say you heard and you were worried. And that's why you've stopped by. And while you're there...snoop. If they think everybody's gone, they'll start leaving stuff out."
"He is sick, you say?" The brunette blinked and ran a hand through his thick hair a little uneasily. "Is it tornado season?"
Hawaii gave him a flat expression. "Don't back out now, baby."
"Not backing out! I just know he gets mean. I swear he has Papi's temp-" He broke off on noticing Spain. He choked a bit and hastily said, "-er...But I...I am l-looking forward t-to seeing him since it has been s-s-s-sooo long uh...many years ago that I've gotten to-to er...see-"
"You knew," Spain frowned.
"..."
"Ricardo Fernández Carriedo!"
"¡Acho men¡" The young man flinched before blurting, "Nononono, Papi! Not the whole time. I was as surprised as you-"
Under the hard green eyed gaze, he faltered. "...just...y'know...in 1914…"
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