Shout Outs: So here come the next shout-outs! And yes, I will do this every time because it makes me happy when you guys review; they do give me muse! So here's a general thank you to all my reviewers and all the subscription alerts and favourites. I'm so glad!

To PrussianAwesomeness, yes, we must all empathize with the poor man. He deserves it... sadly. v.v To XxCapturetheLightxX, ahaha, yes! I personally think I'm giving myself hell by putting in French and British at once, especially since I'm not familiar with either of the both... XD But yes, remember that picture because it will be important in later chapters! Also, there's a picture for you to see at the bottom A/N, so check it out! To Readers-Section, once again, thanks for reviewing! Yes, yes, I do agree with that, but sometimes the line between vanity and pride are sometimes blurred, at least I think so. And here's your little slice of the two meeting; they just love each other, don't they? Ahaha! To Deemo, yes, I do notice that, but I was unsure in that I think Arthur can be a "gentleman" when he's not being irritated, but in this chapter, well, he definitely is irritated with a certain frog, lawl. To kuroNshiro, thank you very much for the compliments! I do hope you continue reading along! As for Reviewer, thank you very much. I do try, and I agree with that perfectly, haha. That's what I had in mind. And now, cookies for everyone!

Now I shall be quiet and let you all read.

"The news of the recent murder of serial killer and rapist Morgan Fuego has Louisiana police authorities baffled. Morgan Fuego, a thirty-year-old Caucasian male, has been suspected of five murders and three raping incidents of various women. He had been able to evade authorities for almost a year. However today, a decapitated body of the serial killer and rapist has been found in an alleyway, with no evidence of who killed him, but only what. Ballistic analysts found that he had been shot from a variable distance, and was suspected to have been killed by a far-range shooter or sniper. Authorities are currently investigating the crime scene, but so far, no leads have been disclosed as of yet."

Images flashed in the background, but those that had been centered around the actual murder scene had been censored – "softened" he could call it – and there were people being interviewed around both that location and the mansion where they had just been a few hours ago. He could scoff at this; the interviews weren't particularly informative. It was more of a personal opinion debate than anything else. Comments like "it was horrible" or "I heard a gunshot while I was walking my dog" hardly seemed like anything the police or the public wanted to know. He resisted the urge to repeatedly smack his head on the table that now lay in front of him, silent, as though internally snickering at his misfortune. In turn, he offered it only a scowl, which he quickly removed; it was just wonderful how he was not only invisible, but now, he was going insane. But then again, that was probably what his coworkers wanted; none of them seemed to particularly enjoy his company and if anything, he would admit that yes, that feeling was indeed mutual. But honestly, if they needed a damn witness, then they should have called him. He had been the one to witness the scene firsthand, although reliving such a thing for the sake of popularity wasn't exactly his forte. Reliving such a thing for information… well, still not a viable option. Just reliving the whole thing sent shivers up his spine; he was quite certain he would experience some nightmares tonight.

Oh, how wonderfully exciting.

Arthur sat on his assigned desk down at the police station, fingers drumming the table top rhythmically as he stared at the ongoing news. He couldn't help but reminisce about the crime scene investigation that had just been terminated a few hours ago, due to the fact that the media was getting rather rowdy, and that there was a distinct lack of any sort of hard evidence to pin this on anyone. The only thing that reported any sense of substantial progress was the fact that they confirmed that the house was indeed the location of the shooter. This, he knew, was a no-brainer, and he had to strongly resist the urge to roll his eyes in front of the media when the lead investigator had delivered a statement.

There was gun residue on the rooftop, the door was unlocked, and there were fresh footprints glazed over on the carpet floor. How much more obvious could one get?

Of course, the final piece of the puzzle had been the black glove he had confiscated back at the crime scene. At the last minute, he had decided against handing it to his supervisor, both as an act of defiance to the man who had just so "fortunately" noticed after two whole hours that he had been covered in blood, and as a lead-in to his own possible investigation. There was no way that he trusted these stupid fools for something as serious as this; when it came down to justice and his job within the police force, he was not a force to be reckoned with. Plus, this provided him with the perfect opportunity to regain the name he had once lost. Of course, there was always the risk of being questioned and reprimanded for having withheld an important clue, but honestly, he couldn't have cared less. Pompous idiots were all around him; would they really have noticed that a thing or two was missing?

But of course, they would not.

Sighing, Arthur took out said glove, tossing it up and down in his right hand, emerald eyes following the movement as the inanimate object repeatedly defied, then lost, to gravity. He had taken care to further analyze the piece of clothing himself for any fingerprints of the sort, using some materials he had "borrowed" from the crime scene investigation team (really, would a couple of brushes and powder be missed in the grand scheme of things? He would like to think not). It had come out negative, leading him to huff in indignation and irritation. There were no tell-tale signs of hair fibre, either, and so what he ended up with was basically a medium-sized glove which was approximately just a few sizes larger than his own hand. It was just that useful, really.

Deciding that nothing could be achieved by staring murderously at a black piece of leather, he stuffed it into his pocket for "future" investigation. Instead then, he turned – or attempted to – his attention back to the television. The news of the murder had spread like wildfire, which of course, was to be expected, although not particularly uncommon in Louisiana. In the first place, he hadn't exactly known what had possessed him to relocate his family to one of the cities in America that had larger-than-normal crime rates. He would never admit that it had been because the police force in the place was rather lacking, and that by diving headfirst into a hell hole of rapists and killers, he might be able to more easily jump back up to gain his credentials. No, that whole thing was silly. He had just happened to pick a random place on the map, and that place just happened to be Louisiana.

Right.

After about ten minutes, however, of staring at the television that had nothing more than traumatized "witnesses" (he scoffed; no one knew what "traumatized" was even if it got up and bit them on the behind), the male yawned in boredom. Once the crime scene had been thoroughly scanned, the team had gone their separate ways, with the various analysts heading to their respective laboratories to further study what little they had in hopes of catching the perpetrator. However, if he knew anything, it was that snipers were often the more elusive class, seeing as how they often left no evidence of their action in the actual scene of the bloody murder. Not to mention, one didn't become a sniper just because they were able to adjust accordingly to various weather abnormalities and different obstacles; one had to be extremely capable, calculating, and skilled to become one.

It would be like a wild goose chase, unless there was more substantial evidence.

However, it wasn't that fact that frustrated him; no, being short on clues was often what he had to come by when he had been one of the lead investigators. It was the fact that he could do no more than be an errand boy to the agents that had sticks so high up their arses that they couldn't see a clue if it hit them on the forehead. He briefly noted – sourly, at that – that he really was doing more harm than good for himself by being around such callous idiots, knowing that he could do so much better. However, on the rare occurrence in which he had been able to view the bright side, it was that he would be able to be exposed to the crime scenes. Although it was an indirect exposure, it was exposure nonetheless, and he would take what he got.

… Oh, who was he kidding? He wanted nothing more than to relive the glory days, not be ordered around like some bloody lack wit.

He just wanted to do something, something that didn't involve standing there like a moron with a damn shirt soaked in blood with no one noticing him…

He jumped, surprised by a foreign sound in the abnormally quiet office. Arthur frowned to himself; since when had he evolved into some self-deprecating masochist? Shaking his head, he forced thoughts of pride and the like towards the deepest recesses of his mind, trying to pinpoint what the sound had been exactly. It took him a few slow seconds to realize that it had been made at the front door, some sort of idiotic superstition by the head of office to ward off evil spirits.

Hmph, as if there was such a thing. Faeries and pixies, maybe, but evil spirits? Now that was just bordering on insanity.

Footsteps echoed on the floor as whomever had entered made their way down the halls of the grand police station. Being in one of the most disgusting excuse of city (in his opinion) did have its advantages, and his workplace was one of the rare few. It spanned three floors, two of which he could come and go at will, including the first and second floors. The halls were usually well kept, clean and tidy despite the fact that this place was often where the filthiest of criminals wiped their sorry excuses of shoes against the linoleum floor. It was ironic, he would think, that such an immaculate place was so often soiled by the treacherous people out there who found sheer amusement in taking the lives of others.

To what sort of twisted fun they could find from having blood dirty their hands was beyond him, and it was in his best interest not to attempt to empathize, either. He had enough on his plate as it was.

Finally, two figures emerged from around the corner, at least from where he could see. Arthur was stationed along the entrance to the main floor, a "receptionist" of sorts. To him, it was complete and utter bullshit. He knew that he had been placed there to deal with the more irate individuals that no one else would ever bother helping, though why they chose him was a mystery. Everyone knew of his ill-temper, and so matching a hot-headed individual with another possible insane, hot-headed person was definitely not going to bode well. It was yet another strike at the supposedly pristine palace of job opportunities that was the police force… as if.

One of the figures was someone he could recognize immediately, not only due to her distinctively coloured hair and hairstyle, but also due to the fact that she seemed to be one of the few females who could tolerate his presence… or one of the few who could, in general. With her chocolate-coloured hair and matching brown eyes, she looked like a walking chocolate bar to him, although this contrasted with her milky skin that he could have sworn was translucent in some light. She was an amiable person, he could say, although a little towards the gullible side. Often, it only took a few twisted words and manipulation before the woman completely changed her mind. It was judgemental of him to think so, yes, but he enjoyed reading people… whether he was any good at it, or not.

"Carrie?" he asked, forehead fully obscured and green eyes partially so under his police hat. "What are you doing back early? I thought you were out on patrol."

Arthur eyed her dutifully, glancing at her face that was just in a tad darker shade of pink than was her usual. "O-oh…", she replied, stuttering slightly. "Yeah, well, something came up, and I have to go home."

"Did it now? And what, pray tell, is this "something"?"

"S'nothing." She fidgeted, but it was quite obvious from her attempts to misdirect him that there was, indeed, something. He continued to watch her carefully, both of them refusing to break eye contact. However, Arthur was not only known to be ill-tempered, but stubborn as well, and there was no way he was going to lose such an effeminate battle of perseverance. He could almost feel a smirk of victory crossing his features when she blinked and looked away; the only thing that stopped him from doing so was the object of her attention. It was only for a brief moment, but her muddy eyes landed on her companion, causing a visible pooling of blood in her cheeks.

Oh, right, he had forgotten about the other person.

Redirecting his sight, Arthur looked towards the male that stood next to her, his arm draped around her shoulder familiarly. Nothing could be said of his appearance – at least, none that particularly stood out to the male. He had blonde hair that closely resembled his in hue, but its length was that to his shoulders. It flowed freely around his face, a face that was now sporting a confident grin that had Arthur summarizing his whole personality in one word: wanker.

The other's smile grew larger when Arthur peered at him curiously, and he stepped closer to the desk. "Carrie? 'Oo is 'zis? Is 'e a friend of yours?" French. He was so sickeningly French that Arthur had to resist the urge to reach across the table and slam his face on it… if it wasn't for the fact that it was his favourite desk, and having the scene of obnoxious Frenchman on it every day wouldn't have particularly assisted his… wonderful everyday moods. Instead then, he kept to himself, retracting one hand from the desk and stowing it on his lap, where it rearranged itself into a fist.

If he didn't believe in hate at first sight, he did now.

"U-um, yes, this is Arthur, my co-worker," Carrie responded shyly, still fidgeting and unable to look either of the males in the eye. "Arthur, this is Francis, my, uh… friend."

The blonde tsked, wagging his finger in front of her, before pulling her close with the arm around her neck, positioning his face a few centimetres away from her. "Now, now, ma cherie, do not be so… 'ow do you say it… 'umble, no? 'Eet would 'urt if you only considered us friends, non?" He winked at her, blue eyes catching the light just right to cause it to sparkle like the sea.

Carrie squeaked, before nodding mechanically and bowing her head. In response, the Frenchman chuckled, his hand lifting her chin up gently, proceeding to lock his lips with hers, causing a brief whine of protest, before it was immediately reciprocated.

"Yes, hello?" A curt voice cut through the scene, and the two separated with an audible plunging sound. "Yes, I am still here." Arthur's eyebrow twitched and it literally took all his strength right then not to pull out his gun and shoot someone. "As much as I love romance," he scoffed, hardly believing that such words had come out of his mouth, even if they were absolutely dripping in sarcasm, "would you two kindly save your snogging for somewhere else?"

The Frenchman chuckled, a sound that felt like chalk grating on the proverbial chalkboard in his mind. He grit his teeth; would burning someone's hair be considered a crime? He didn't think so; he had read the manual, and he was pretty certain there was nothing about it in there…

"But, of course, monsieur. Where are my manners? But you know, mon britannique, you could 'ave averted your eyes, oui? Do not be such a prude," he laughed softly. "Oh, unless… you wanted un kiss as well? I would be glad to oblige."

Arthur stared at the man with oozing hostility; never had he been so aggravated by someone's mere presence, and his personality was most definitely not earning him any positive points. "Wh-why I never-! Who would want to ever kiss you, you bloody git?" A crash followed thereafter, where Arthur had somehow found his hand holding a pencil holder… and it was tossed at the Frenchman's direction. The man sidestepped easily, still clearly amused. Oh, how he wanted to wipe that smirk off his face.

However, just before another argument could erupt, the chief arrived, growling and muttering under his breath, glancing at the scene. "What in the hell just happened here?"

At the appearance of a higher-up, Arthur felt himself melt and defuse; not now, he could not risk everything now. With the utmost strength, he sat back down, massaging his temples before looking back at his boss, and forced – and very painful – smile on his face. "It's nothing, sir. I was attempting to have this troublemaker leave, but he's quite stubborn."

The elder man wheeled towards Carrie and her companion, his glare piercing. The Frenchman, waved his hand dismissively, as though unable to feel the tension in the air. "'Eet is okay, sir, I was just getting ready to leave. I apologize for causing any disturbances."

"Fine, just don't start throwing anything else around," the man said shortly, before snorting and departed the scene, leaving the three staring at each other, silence hanging in the air.

"Well, 'zen, shall we get going, ma cherie? We do 'ave… plans," the blonde said, pulling gently on Carrie's shoulders, motioning towards the exit with his head.

"R-right… well, I'll be seeing you, Arthur," Carrie muttered, before blushing and turning around as she was pulled deeper into the man's embrace. Their footsteps faded soon enough, but not before the male turned around, winking at Arthur.

Arthur, on the other hand, resisted throwing him the finger and another pencil kit.

The key was jammed into the engine with much more force than was necessary – as if he cared. Muttering and cursing under his breath, Arthur threw down the cap off his head. It landed in the passenger's seat with a soft thud, causing a whole new set of curses to leave the Brit's mouth. Well, that had just been one dandy day. He was relieved that it was over, but the overall feeling of relief was shadowed by the sheer annoyance he felt towards a certain someone for ruining what could have been the last ten minutes of his work shift.

The silver Hyundai Sonata purred into life, unaware of the temperamental mood that its driver was currently experiencing. The sheer nerve of that man; who did he think he was, some sort of bloody god? Arthur bit his tongue to a point where he could taste the metallic palate in his mouth, but he paid that no mind. His thoughts were far too harried by certain murder techniques he could employ on a certain blonde man without having to fabricate too much evidence for his alibi. He could do it; he was a police officer (being a rookie, albeit, but still an officer of the law, nonetheless) and he'd seen his fair share of crimes to know where criminals went wrong and ended up being put behind bars. But he would do it end it quickly; staring at the bastard's obnoxious face made him want to bash it repeatedly and throw up on the sidewalk. Yes, it was that bad.

However, before he could continue on his ramblings and master plans as to procuring a gun illegally, his cellphone rang. Having connected it to his car automatically via Bluetooth, he merely said "Answer", and the call was put through… and he almost wished immediately that he had checked the number before accepting it.

Out came the shrill voice of a female he knew too well, a shrill voice that also caused his ears to bleed, but not to a point where it could actually kill him. No, if it did, he would have been long dead four years ago.

"Arthur! Where have you been? I've been trying to call you all day!"

"… I've been at work… honey. Remember? I'm not allowed communication while on shift." He took slow and deep breaths; in through the nose and out through the mouth. He felt like he was giving birth.

"Yes, well, that's a fucking stupid rule. While you were off doing who-knows-what, someone got in trouble at school… again! Tell me, can you guess who?"

Arthur breathed through his teeth, resisting the urge to bang his head on the steering wheel. This scene was so overplayed that he felt as though he had memorized all the lines by heart. "… Let me guess. Is it Alfred?"

"Damn right, it's Alfred. That stupid son of yours is always getting into trouble! I just had a call from the principal's office, and we have to pick him up! Like hell I'm going to show my face! He's caused enough trouble for me; I don't need to show my face up for him, either!"

The male sighed, shaking his head. Alfred really was a troublemaker of sorts, even when he had been at an age where he could not talk, but it had seemed to have gotten worse since they moved here. He figured it was nothing more than a ridiculous phase of rebellion; all he needed was to get settled and get used to the situation. Honestly, he couldn't blame the lad, although sometimes, he wished that the boy could better behave himself every now and again. This was the third day in a row that he'd been reprimanded for some joke that he had done, a prank that had gone too far. Although the Briton was, in fact, a stickler for rules and rigidity, always wanting everything kempt, he couldn't help but bend those rules for his son. The boy was the only real family he had left, the only thing he had left to protect, the only thing he had left to make him feel whole. His wife was already at her wits' end with both of them, and he wouldn't be surprised if any day now, she would pull out divorce papers. It would hurt like hell, of course; he did love her, otherwise, he wouldn't have married her in the first place. But the marriage was tearing them apart, and it seemed as though Alfred would be the final barrier between the two of them.

His life was just one big fantastic mess, wasn't it?

"Well… yes, I-… I'll take care of it."

"You damn well better take care of it! And hurry up, dinner's at six."

"Yes, darling. I'll see you then. … Love you."

"Yeah, yeah, you too."

The phone went dead, along with all other signs of life that lingered within the half-dead policeman. He groaned; life was just dandy.

It really, really was.

"What did you do this time, Alfred?" The whole ride home had been rather quiet, with only the purr of the engine and the hypnotizing murmurs of the radio lulling them both into reality. After having picked up his son from the principal's office, with repeated promises of "disciplining" his son, he had finally been allowed to leave, but only under the premises that from that day on, Alfred would be watched carefully, and that if any other infractions occurred within the week, he would be put on a two-week suspension.

There was no response from the passenger seat; his son was brooding, as was usual. He even refused to make eye contact, huffily staring out the window as city lights flickered by. Arthur did not understand where he got his stubbornness from, but he was sure as the earth was round that it wasn't from his side of the family. He glanced at the fifteen-year-old, who was taking care not to turn his neck in his father's direction, still resolute on keeping the silence. If it wasn't for the fact that this was his flesh and blood, Arthur was pretty certain he would have strangled him by now; that, and the fact that he loved his son more than anything in the world… despite his obvious flaws.

He sighed; the tension was too much for him, at least, too much between himself and his son. "Listen, Alfred, if you have a problem with the school here, then-"

"I don't have a problem with the school, I don't have a problem with the kids, I have a problem with the whole fact that we even moved here!" came the loud outburst from his right. Arthur blinked, taken off-guard by the response, but not surprised with its context. Alfred had, after all, voiced his concern on the matter more than once, but there was nothing that could have been done. "You know, all the kids are talking about how they went to kindergarten together, then they look at me like I'm some sort of alien! Do you know what that feels like? Huh? Of course not, Dad, because you never had to go through something like that! I hate this place, I hate this city!"

Arthur bit his tongue, refusing to explode as well, though his patience was wearing rather quite thin, especially considering the events of that day. "Please, Alfred, just bear with it," he said, his tone gentler than he had expected. "You… you'll get used to it. Just give it some time, alright? And please stop trying to cause trouble… your mother and I are very worried about you."

"Yeah? Well, you should be worried. Whatever, Dad."

And just like that, with a tone of finality in his voice, the conversation was cut short, leaving only a dreaded silence hanging in the air.

A/N: So... I feel like I haven't updated this in forever, but that's because I got my first job evur (I know, sad), and I feel really overwhelmed, followed by muse rape, so I'm really sorry if this chapter doesn't meet standards. Like Francis, I gave you a glimpse of his family life, which will be used for characterization later on. If there's anything I can do to improve, or just have some insight, please feel free to review!

Also, next chapter is where the real "fun" begins, so look forward to that!

Finally, if you have some difficult picturing police Arthur, then look at this http: / / www . zerochan . net / 629413 Just remove the spaces. /giggles

Have a good day, readers!