Gun to the head
A/N – Hello everyone! Currently I am having some time off work and, aside from doing my best to clear my head after a very weird and agitated summer, I'll be trying to catch up on my fics. So I'm making an effort to get things done around here, as much as possible and write as many chaps as I can before the break is over. That being said, enjoy today's update!
The 'safe house' they finally got to was small and dark, looking like it hadn't been used in quite some time. It was located in a decrepit apartment building with odd-smelling hallways and flickering bulbs half-buried in cobwebs. They'd left the car in the back alley and Ivan had prompted Berwald to pull down the fire-escape ladder, the group making their way up quietly to the fifth floor, weapons still at the ready. It turned out no one had used the spare key hidden under the moldy 'welcome' rug in front of the door, no one else had made it here yet aside from them.
The apartment itself was more than a little unwelcoming, cramped with old furniture and other cheap stuff lying around in disorder, the windows covered with dusty, fractured wooden blinds. The air inside was stale and had the same mold smell of the rest of the building, probably coming from the walls from which the tacky, fading flowery wallpaper was peeling off in large chunks.
Yekaterina had busied herself with opening the windows as Ivan had carried Raivis into the bedroom, settling him on the large double-bed before getting on the phone with their 'house doctor'. The boy and Natalya needed to be seen to as soon as possible.
"Katya!" the Russian boss called from the bedroom. "Call the Magic Club and tell them to make a full assessment of the situation once the smoke clears."
Tino discarded his weapon and plopped limply on the shabby living couch, stirring up a cloud of dust and the Swede could do little else than to curl up next to him, eyes nearly closing with fatigue. His side burned and stung and his shirt felt wetly sticking to the skin, but he didn't want to look, not now. He didn't want to think what had happened to the police, if Kohler had been sent out on the field or not, he didn't want to think about gunning down Vash Zwingli without as much as a warning. At least Tino was safe… for now. He just wanted to sleep.
"Well that was a fuck-up…" the Finn concluded with a deep sigh, throwing his head back against the backrest, his expression forlorn. "I didn't realize they were so many and that they had so much stuff! I don't know why the fuck they needed me so much, or why they needed me at all. Most of the stuff they didn't get from me, so…"
"Maybe it was just a maneuver," Ivan offered, coming out of the bedroom and pulling the bloodstained shirt over his head. "Maybe Vargas knew you were friends with us so he got you a small business deal to make you – and us – think he was putting up an average-size crew for which he just needed regular supplies. And it worked to some extent, because that was what you thought, da. He let you see the mercs, but without gears they weren't that impressive, were they?"
"I guess…"
"Anyway, it didn't occur to me either that we'd need to have a fortress built to deal with a full-on war when I came to this fucking country, da," the ashen-blond admitted with a sigh. He went on to say something else, but the detective didn't catch it, the words fading in his ears as fatigue finally overtook him.
When he next woke up, a few hours seemed to have passed because outside the sky was completely dark and several lamps had been lit around the apartment. He was shirtless and some bandages had been wrapped around his torso, feeling stiff and a tad too tight. Someone had taken off his glasses and set them on the coffee table in front of the couch. Berwald groaned slightly, sitting up and reaching for them. His side still ached, but the burn had dulled somewhat.
"What's going on? H-How long have I been asleep?"
"Just a couple of hours, but you were out good. The doctor patched you up," his boyfriend replied from where he sat at the other end of the sofa, curled up with his knees to his chest and scrolling on his phone. They were momentarily alone in the living, Ivan and Yekaterina probably cooped up in the bedroom with the wounded. "It was just a scratch though, only needed some cleaning up."
The Swede nodded slowly, still groggy, reaching for his own phone in his back pockets. It was gone.
Fear spiked through him instantly at the discovery, effectively chasing away all remnants of sleep. Where was it?! Had he dropped it somewhere? And if so, what if someone had found and taken it? What if- He hadn't passworded his phone – it was a way not to arouse suspicion if Tino was ever to check on it, he'd simply preferred to promptly delete all messages from Kohler and the Chief Inspector as soon as he got them and their numbers weren't saved in his address book, he'd memorized them instead. But now if someone had gotten their hands on his phone and a message had arrived asking for updates in the meantime, he was fucked!
Making an effort to steady his breathing, the detective glanced at Tino circumspectly over the rim of his glasses. Still, there was nothing suspicious in the other's demeanor.
"Uh… did you see my phone?"
Tino looked up from his own device and gave him a questioning glance. "Nope," he offered with a head shake. "Did you lose it?"
"Must've dropped from my pocket at some point or something…" the other muttered. "So, what's going on now?"
"Ugh, we wait I guess. Arthur's on his way here," the Finn said, tiredly rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm. "Looks like things got 'wrapped up' in the end and Magic Club went to…um… count the dead, assess the damage, stuff like that. Anyway, Ivan got hammered good, so…"
"You okay?"
Tino stared in his lap, sighing. "Well I kind of… I don't know, maybe I panicked back there and didn't think this through. I mean my shop is gone, those shits must've taken all of my stuff. I do have something left in my bank account but it'll be kind of hard to start all over again and… fuck. Now I'm thinking we could have said yes to Vargas and then find a way to screw him over and disappear later on."
"Vargas could have asked you to fight against Ivan," the detective stated. "That would have been a problem, don't you think? And the move would have looked bad to Ivan regardless of your real intent to screw Vargas."
Speaking of, the Russian walked into the living-room a moment later.
"Natasha okay?" Tino piped up, with genuine concern.
"Da, she is. Raivis was a bit more work, but he's out of danger. I do hope the macaroni bastard kicked the buck-" He was cut off brusquely when the doorbell rang, effectively startling everyone in the room.
Tino jumped up, instantly reaching for his weapon which was propped at the foot of the sofa. Ivan's Walther P99 was also out as he motioned for the two of them to stay put while he crept silently towards the door. A glance through the peephole put his mind at ease though and he opened it, letting a certain eccentric Englishman in, accompanied by excited, high-pitched dog barks.
"HANA!" The white ball of fluff jumped from Kirkland's arms, instantly spotting her owner and rapidly making her way through Ivan's legs. Tino lifted her up and pressed a loud kiss on the black button nose, a broad grin widening on his face. "How'd you find her?!"
"Cooped up in some prison-looking bedroom, mate," Arthur replied, plopping into an armchair and stirring some more dust. "I don't even want to think what you used that for, comrade," he told Ivan with a naughty smile. "Oh," he added, digging into the oversized pocket of the taupe-colored trench-coat he was wearing over skinny black jeans and a band t-shirt. "I think this is yours?" He offered Berwald his phone with a black-nailed hand, the screen cracked a bit.
"Uh, thanks. How did you-" Berwald grumbled awkwardly, before realizing that Tino's smiling photo he had for wallpaper must have been the only clue the Englishman had needed.
"So how are things down there?" the Russian asked finally, putting a whiskey glass in Arthur's hand.
The green-eyed blond took a large gulp out of it and shook his head. "Well, first of all, no point in doing a stock-take, mate. Police got hold of everything in the building, we just made it in and out very quickly and just in time. We couldn't pick up any of your toys. Other than that, place is trashed and we counted at least fifty corpses inside. There were more outside but the police was very close by, we didn't risk it. We did catch their frequency later on for more info."
"What happened to Vargas?" the detective asked, not daring to be too hopeful.
"Well, they thought they could push through the police blockade and get away and they almost did. Almost. Lovino was arrested without as much as a scratch, if you believe it, but his siblings weren't so lucky. Venetiano was wounded pretty badly and the kid Sebastiano is dead. So are the Beilschmidt brothers and Vash Zwingli with his whole smartass team. To sum it up, you could say they're finished."
Sebastiano was dead. Berwald felt his stomach churning and bile rising in his throat. Had the kid been among the bikers they'd gunned down?! He knew he'd gotten at least two of them himself, so what if-
"The police did it?" he asked absently, interrupting Arthur, who had moved to another topic now.
"What?"
"Kill Sebastiano…"
Arthur gave him a quizzical glance, then sighed. "They did actually. Venetiano was the only sibling actively involved in the attack, Lovino and the kid had stayed back at the 'command center'. But when the cops cornered them they went out and started shooting."
"Bastards, he was just a child," Ivan stated.
"He was a fucking idiot, mate, this ain't the bloody Matrix. People need to be realistic with their odds, you know?"
Berwald couldn't listen to this conversation any longer so he just stood up and stumbled into the bathroom, slamming the door after him. Dropping his glasses on the edge of the sink, he generously splashed cold water onto his face and hair, rubbing it in furiously as he tried to fight off the feeling of almost-nausea nestled in his stomach. In the sharp neon light the cracked mirror showed a sickly off-white, barely recognizable face with deep dark circles around the eyes, the face of a haunted man.
The Italians had finally been apprehended, but it felt like little accomplishment now, the costs had been too high and the complications too extensive. And now he was expected to pull out, leave his cover behind. But how to do that, how to disappear just like that?! And Tino… he didn't want to get Tino arrested or worse, in trouble with Ivan! In fact, his heart sank at the thought of leaving the Finn at all, he didn't want-…
He found his shirt put to dry on a hanger, damp on the side with hole, but at least most of the blood had been cleaned out. Pulling it over his head and carefully covering the bandages, the Swede replaced his glasses on his nose and pulled out his phone, staring at the cracked screen thoughtfully. Maybe he could-
"Hey Ber, you okay in there?!"
The sudden knocking broke his train of thought and he shoved the phone back into his pocket, hurrying to get out. Tino was staring at him in a suddenly odd fashion, half-concern and half composure on the edge of cracking.
"Yeah, I'm fine. What's the matter?"
The gun dealer bit his bottom lip briefly, stuffing his hands in his pockets, uncomfortable. "Just-… Let's go get some air, yeah?" he said, motioning curtly with his head towards the door.
"What?! But-" Berwald met the Englishman's intent stare, but next to him Ivan looked oblivious, clearly preoccupied by other things. "It might not be safe outside, what if-"
"Come on," Tino prompted again, all but pulling him towards the door.
Something was definitely up all the sudden, Berwald knew it instinctively, because they went out and down the stairs in a hurry, leaving their weapons behind. Maybe in the short time he'd been in the bathroom Tino had decided to walk out on Ivan, considering the police must have been looking for the Russians now. And Kirkland must have been aware of it too, considering the glances discreetly exchanged between the two. Still, he didn't ask anything until they were back in the concrete courtyard behind the apartment building, but once there Tino, who had been walking ahead, turned around brusquely and pointed one of his Berettas in Berwald's face.
"Tino, what-?"
"YOU FUCKER, YOU'RE A COP!" the Finn shouted, teeth gritted in an expression of pure agony.
The detective took a step back, momentarily too stunned to even breathe. Fear coursed through him like a hot spike, mixed with pain. He was fucked. No need for planning any further.
"L-Look, it's not-"
"Do you fucking remember what I told you when I gave you the job?! You betray me, I fucking kill you! Did you think I was joking, you motherfucker?!"
Tino's chest heaved with each labored breath he took, bitter disappointment and hurt written all over his face. That was it, right there. The end. Berwald was losing him too, along with his chance of surviving this mission. The Swede bowed his head, arms dropping by his sides in defeat. He might as well come clean before it was all over, his lover had the right to know.
"Yes. I'm a cop," he nodded slowly. "I took the job with you as an undercover mission. I'm sorry."
A loud sob reached his ears and he looked up again to see tears streaming freely from those beautiful, large lilac eyes and the gun pointed at Berwald's head wavering ever so slightly.
"I'm sorry too, Ber… But I'm not going back to prison".
To be continued
A/N – If you're also a fan of GerIta or just looking for a good laugh, you're also welcome to check my latest published (and completed work) – The Love for Words That Lead to War. Seriously, it's the ultimate trollfic. Also a big shout-out to my fellow author Letsnottalkaboutitaye, her works are amazing and she updates really fast too (unlike other people we know )))).
Reviews and comments are LOVE ;)
