CHAPTER 15

"Alice...Alice?"

"What?" She snapped out of her daydream and back to Alfred. He said nothing, just squeezing her hand as hard as he possibly could without hurting her. She didn't mind, really. The pain reminded her that she was, in fact, still alive. Giant, clear blobs gushed from behind Alfred's already bloodshot eyes. He'd been in this state for the past hour or so since Alice had woken up.

"H-He nearly..." Alfred took in a shaky, boogery breath. "That son of a bitch nearly k-killed you. He-He nearly...Nearly t-took you away..."

Alice gave him a half-hearted smile. It was too painful to move. Even with the doctor's billion and five pills, it still felt as if red-hot pokers had taken the bullets' place. The pain seared, taking up nearly her full attention. Fuck. "I'm fine, Alfie." She grabbed him and pulled him into a weak embrace. It helped that he didn't try to pull away. "...I-I'm okay."

I'm okay...I'm okay...I'm okay...I'm okay. Alice repeated the mantra in her head. She was okay. She wasn't dead. It hurt like a mother, but she was alive and no one else had gotten hurt. That's what mattered, right?

"You're not okay." Alfred growled, but then softened up again. "It's all my fault. I should've had my guys check him better, I should've been in there with you, I-"

"Shut up, Alfred. It wasn't anybody's fault, but that Swiss cheese bastard." There was no venom in her voice, surprisingly. "And besides, you should have more faith in me..." She managed a weak grin. "I promised that I wouldn't disappear on you again, didn't I?" She didn't notice the tears spilling over her eyes until they dropped onto her clothes.

"Yeah." Alfred let out a shaky breath and his figure relaxed, but he didn't let go of her. "Yeah."

"Hand me your phone, will you?" Alice said. Alfred gave her the phone, not asking.

A thick Russian accent crackled over the line. "Alfred? Why are you calling me at work?"

"Braginski." Alice said, ignoring Alfred's shocked face. "Can you come over to the St. Rose Hospital? I took a bit of a blow today at work and your moronic boyfriend has been sitting here for at least a full eight hours. Bring some junk food." She hung up.

"Alice!" Alfred hissed at her. "You know he's busy."

"But I'm right, aren't I?" Alice raised an eyebrow at her childhood friend. "When was the last time you ate?"

Alfred scowled at her.

"That's what I thought." She gave him a sly grin. "Besides, I'm sure your boyfriend wouldn't mind any sort of excuse to be with you."

"Shut up..." Alfred muttered half-heartedly, his face on fire.

The Englishwoman paused for a brief moment. "Did you tell them?" Her brothers and sister.

"I told them you had an emergency overnight trip to Blackpool and didn't remember to tell them." Alfred huffed. "I figured you didn't want them to know."

"Thanks." Alice nodded. She didn't need any more drama back at the house than there already was. "What happened after Zwingli shot me?"

Alfred's expression darkened. "I threw his ass in jail after I gave him the ass whoopin' of two lifetimes."

"Your boyfriend's a fucking lawyer and you're a cop. You can't just do that." Alice hissed at him, giving him a weak whack on the head.

Alfred ignored her. "Francy-pants went with you into the ambulance and stayed here with you for most of the time but he had to leave because of his kid."

Alice hummed. "How long have I been in this damn place?" She glared around the room. Alice hated hospitals. Hated the crisp, poisonous smells. Hated the needles, the endless bottles of medication and pill. She hated everything. Alice had spent more than enough years in bloody hospitals and she didn't plan to stay for much longer than two days.

"Eighteen hours." Alfred said, "And don't worry about the hospital bill, the company pays for it."

"Barely." Alice huffed. "And I'm pretty damn sure they take money out of my paycheck. I have to get out of here."

"No!" Alfred stood, desperate anger etched into his face. "You're not healed, yet. You can't leave!"

"I've got to, Alfred." Alice sighed, sitting upwards. Electrifying pain stabbed through her body. She yelped, left hand shooting to her right arm. "Fuck." She wheezed heavily, sweat dripping from her forehead.

"See?" Alfred said, rubbing her back comfortingly. "Don't move, you'll just hurt yourself even more. 'Kay?" She just grunted and focused her mind on Alfred's hand.

XXX

Two days later, Alice was released from the hospital.

Mainly because she kept giving the staff death glares, but that was unimportant. The doctor said that she should go home and take time off from work for at least six months. "Not bloody likely." Alice huffed, entering her house. "I leave for five minutes and the whole world is falling apart. I'm going back to work tomorrow, whether Alfred bloody likes it or not."

Abandoned.

That was the first thing that Alice noticed when she entered her home. It was quiet and dark. She usually saw it that way, nowadays, with all the work she had on her plate. It had a different feel to it, though. Her siblings had always been home before, even if they were passed out on the couch, dead drunk. That was just home. The house was empty, she soon discovered, finding a note on the fridge saying that her brothers and sister had gone drinking.

"If they knew what happened...what would they have done?" Alice murmured to herself, staring at the note. "If I tell them, what will they do?" She wasn't going to, of course, but she still liked to imagine how dramatic they might act. Like how it always was in the books, the sufferings of the martyr are discovered and there's a sudden, emotional realization. The martyr becomes a hero and is excepted and loved by everyone around them.

What a load of poppycock.

"If anything, they'd go out drinking." Alice huffed to herself, crumbled up the note and threw it into the garbage. She pulled out some of Dylan's lamb stew from the fridge. He was the only one, in the entire centuries long history of Kirklands, that could actually cook worth something. A miracle, really. She warmed up a bowl of stew and set to work on making a cup of tea.

She'd need it.

While the food was cooking, Alice grabbed her case files and brought them down to the kitchen table. She had notes written full of discreet messages of symbols, poetry and Latin. Wonderful. She also had several witnesses to testify that Vash Zwingli was involved with the two girls, and he'd been defensive all the way through questioning until he saw the knife.

A deep shudder racked through her body.

That flash of silver, the deafening click, that explosion of burning agony. "Fuck." She hissed out, taking a huge swig of her tea, not caring how it boiled her insides as it sloshed down her throat. Anything to distract her. Alice looked back at the papers. It would be fair to say that Vash Zwingli was the culprit.

He had reasons, he had weapons and he had the skill.

If ye've go' everythin' line'd up in a row, ye be thinken, why 'tis it? Why 'tis it no'? Is what her father had said to her.

In other words, 'If he seems guilty, look for ways he shouldn't be guilty. Work backwards.'

First off, she needed to find out if Vash knew other languages besides English and German. Second, she still needed to talk to Antonio and Lovino about the man that gave her the note. And finally third, Alice needed to revisit Mr. Zwingli.

Laughter boomed through the house suddenly as her drunken brothers and sister barreled down the hall. Alice sighed. "Better go get the painkillers and water."

Patrick collapsed into the kitchen, shouting mad curses and seemingly threatening a random vase by the kitchen table. "I'm a gonna-*hiccup*-gonna kick y-yer ass, ye bluuuuuuudy biiiiiiitch!" He pulled back his arm ready to punch the glass vase.

Before Alice could jump forward to stop him, Wilma dashed in front of him, holding her arms out. "Ye can't! Ye can't, I loooooooooooooooooove him, Pattyyyyyy!"

"Oh God," Alice slapped a hand over her mouth to stop herself from bursting out laughing.

"Nae, Willy!" Patrick slurred, pointing at the innocent vase. "Ye can't marryyyyyyyy a man you just meeeeeeeeeeet!"

"IT'S TRUE LOVE!" Alistair suddenly burst... Was he crying?!

"Alice~!" Dylan cried, rushing towards her. How the hell did he manage that in a wheelchair? "You're back~! I missed you sooooooooooooooooooooo much! Why did you leave me?!"

"Dylan, what are you talking about? I've been around for years." Alice asked, raising an eyebrow. It was really useless to talk to a drunk, but getting Dylan drunk was a rare thing.

"No, siiiillllly~!" Dylan slurred, not letting go of her. "Why did you leave us? Why did you leave after papa diiied?"

She stiffened. "I said I'd tell you later, Dylan. Why don't you go on up to bed, yeah?"

"Nooooo!" Wilma wailed, forgetting her true love for a moment and latching herself onto Alice's leg. "Ye'll dissssssapear again!"

Alice felt as though an iron hand were squeezing the life out of her heart. "I-"

"Maybe she should juuuuuus' high 'ail I' ou' a here." Patrick hissed at her. "Ye obviioussslly don' be wan'en here, she shood jus' stay away!"

Another squeeze. "Patrick, let's get you to bed."

"Nae!" He protested, swaying slightly. "Ye shud be te one leavin'! Run away! Jus' like ye always bluudy do!" Wilma and Dylan had released her already and were watching the banter get shot between Irishman and Englishwoman, even if it was one-sided.

"Fine." Alice's voice seemed to pierce the silence. "I'll leave...After you go to bed." She marched forward and clutched Patrick's wrist, releasing the anger she had towards herself onto him. She pulled Patrick up to his room and forced him onto the bed.

"Stay." Alice gave him a quick glare before going downstairs and pulling Wilma to her shared room with Patrick. She closed the bedroom door and went to fetch Dylan and Alistair.

"Alice, you came back~!" Dylan sobbed, latching onto her again. "Why do you keep going?" She said nothing and just rolled him up the ramps that they'd installed a few years ago. "Wheeeeee~!" Dylan giggled as Alice pushed him up the ramp. Getting Dylan into bed was easy, Alistair was going to be the tough one.

"Hey, Alistair?" Alice cooed softly, rubbing her older brother's back in comfort. She'd found him crouched up in a corner, not making any noise, which was worse than any kind of tantrum. "It's time to go to bed, Alistair."

"Ah dinnae wantae." Alistair sulked.

"Why not?" She felt like she was talking to a two-year-old.

"'Cause ye'll be gone again." Alistair replied. "Seriously, dae ye wan' tae stay or tae go, bunny?"

Her heart felt like it was suffocating. Alistair hadn't used her old nickname since she was twelve. Alice sat down next to Alistair. "...Do you want me to go?" There was no way he'd remember this conversation; he was so damn hammered.

"Ahhhhhh dinnae ken, lassie." Alistair groaned. "If ah ask ye tae stay, ye'll bluudy leave again, 'n' if ah ask ye tae stay..."

"...Alistair?" She looked down. He'd fallen asleep. Alice sighed and picked his body up. She half dragged him up the stairs, grunting. How many bloody bricks did this idiot have in his pocket?! She nearly threw him onto his bed, but he still didn't wake up.

"If you'd ask me to stay," Alice muttered, giving them a last glance. "I'd never leave again."