A/N:Sorry I haven't updated, guys. :( I got distracted drawing and stuff and I only updated my other fic recently. :P *smacks self* Bad author! Bad! Nice, long chapter to make up for it though! Anyway, we get to see Arthur all angsty here. Again. Well, enjoy anyway!

Arthur sighed as the hot water fell on his body, relishing the warmth it provided. Amazing really, that one could find hot water in East Berlin. No shampoo though- that was a pity. He'd have to make do with the bar of soap. Arthur worked the soap into a lather, rubbing it back and forth between his palms, then used the foam to wash his hair. He usually wouldn't bother, but the rain had made his hair stiffen, and he was not going to make a good first- strike that- second impression if he presented himself like a sloppy bum. Besides, he had no idea when he might have the luxury of a hot shower again. The case from APIA might have orders to get arrested and sent to prison after he was debriefed, where even finding running water would be incredible. He had no way of knowing his next assignment.

Realizing that it he'd been in the shower for a pretty long time, Arthur decided to get out. With a sigh, he turned the knob for the water and slid back the curtain. He looked around for his towel- ah, there it was- and quickly dried off his head. He passed the surprisingly fluffy blue towel over his body, then wrapped it around his waist. He stepped out of the shower onto a cracked cement floor and made his way over to the steam coated mirror. Stooping over, he wiped a clear spot with his elbow and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to style it as best he could; it was all to no avail, really. His hair generally refused to cooperate, and this time was no exception- it stuck out in its usual odd angles. Dejected, Arthur stood up straight, holding his towel up, and exited the bathroom. He walked back to his room and rummaged through the drawers, searching for appropriate clothes. He felt something thin and made of flannel. Underwear? He tugged on it-

And pulled out a pair of boxers emblazoned with the Union Jack. In disgust, he threw the boxers to the floor. Every time! It was amusing the first few instances, but it was getting ridiculous now. Kicking them under the bed, he continued looking for clothes in the drawers and closet, and finally found something suitable: a green pullover and black slacks. As irritating as the underwear thing was, Arthur had to admit that APIA certainly knew how to provide good clothing for their people, when the situation required it. In fact, they had furnished a rather extensive wardrobe, ranging from high quality Italian suits to very realistic rags. A perfect outfit for every occasion.

Once dressed, Arthur turned to the locked box from APIA, containing his next mission. The box was indestructible, short of a nuclear blast, and could only be opened with two keys. One was in possession of Arthur's handler. The other stayed with Arthur. Arthur walked over to his discarded and sopping wet clothing from earlier and found the hem on the left leg of the pocket. Expertly, he undid the stitches and removed a tiny key. This one unlocked a special compartment in Arthur's pocket watch; a round gold piece, waterproof, unbreakable, the works; which held the real key he needed. He replaced the watch in his pocket, placing it next to his wallet. With the proper key in hand, Arthur unlocked the box and removed thin stack of papers. Testing the texture, Arthur found that they were made of a water soluble material. Good, no need to worry about burning these.

He began to read.

The sun was starting to rise now, a few of its orange rays pushing through the thick red curtains in the sitting room.

"Um, Ivan… he's been out of the bath for a while, and I think the tea's getting cold."

Ivan looked away from his newspaper and glanced at the timid Canadian. "Well, then perhaps you should take it up to him. He might have fallen asleep- I don't think he got any rest last night." He smiled. "Also, you might get to know him. What is worst that could happen? If he is asleep, you can just leave tea for him for when he wakes up." Ivan sipped from his mug of coffee.

"You're right. And he didn't look very good earlier… I hope he isn't coming down with something. The tea might help." Matthew smiled. "I'll go check on him now."

Tea tray in hand, Matthew climbed up the stairs quietly, so as not to wake Arthur if he was asleep. He reached the door, hesitated for a moment, then tapped softly. Not hearing an answer, he pushed open the door gently, and stepped in. Arthur was kneeling at the foot of his bed, his head resting on crossed arms. Matthew began to back out of the room, but Arthur's voice stopped him.

"I'm awake." His voice cracked. Matthew looked on, confused by Arthur's tone. Suddenly, Arthur stood up, his sad? expression suddenly turning into a smile. "Ah, brought the tea, did you?" With a slightly trembling hand, Arthur reached for the tea. He took a sip. "Perfect. I love it straight." He turned towards Matthew. "You haven't made breakfast yet, have you? I'm absolutely famished."

Stuttering, puzzled by Arthur's odd mannerisms, Matthew said, "Uh, n-n-no, but I was about to make some pancakes. We weren't sure when you'd be coming in, so I held off on readying a meal. Do you want-"

"Pancakes would be wonderful, thanks," interrupted Arthur. "I'll be up here until the food's done. I didn't get a wink of sleep last night. Feel free to wake me then." Smiling, Arthur walked towards Matthew until Matthew was forced to back-step out of the room. "Sorry for being such a bother. Please let me know when the food is done." Arthur closed the door, then suddenly opened it again. "Oh, and thanks for the tea." And the door shut.

Matthew stared at the wooden door, still holding the tea tray. A younger Matthew would have been off-put, but by now, he had housed enough spies to know that some were eccentric, some were quiet, and some were… broken. Maybe Arthur was one of those. Sadly, Matthew walked back to the kitchen and began making the batter for his pancakes.

Arthur leaned back on the door and slid down to the floor, tea still in quivering hand. He felt a twinge of guilt over shutting the Canadian boy out, but… his hands kept shaking, tea threatening to spill. Arthur began to inhale and exhale deeply, slowly. He wasn't shaking from sadness this time. It was shock.

In the box, he had uncovered documents that showed that Francis wasn't a threat. He had not needed to be killed. What his handler has seen as possible betrayal was actually part of Francis' mission as a double agent- his handler had been misinformed. Arthur was furious. He hadn't needed to kill Francis. Last night didn't have to be their last. If his handler had only waited for Central, not even a whole day, at that!

Suddenly gasping for breath, Arthur clutched his chest. So this was what heartbreak felt like. Utter despair. At least before, he could partly blame Francis for defecting, for not running away. Arthur could convince himself that killing him had been necessary for the mission, to protect liberty and the will of the people. But now- it was stupidity. Sheer stupidity and brashness on the part of his handler that had made him kill Francis. And idiocy on his own part for carrying the orders through. He knew Francis loved his country, would never fall to the Communists. Why did he doubt him?

Francis didn't have to die. Francis didn't have to die! I didn't have to kill him, take his last kiss with a bullet.At this, a dry, choked sob rattled Arthur's body. Oh my God, why? He wanted more tears to come, for his pain to be washed away with salty drops, but they wouldn't come. Instead, he felt himself tense, his hands curl into fists. He was past grief at the moment. He could only feel anger towards his handler for his idiocy, towards APIA for their failure to communicate, and mostly, at himself for doubting Francis. Well, he would right this wrong. I have business to attend to,he thought as he stood up. He drank the last of the cold, bitter tea, and set the cup down on its saucer.

Arthur walked over to the bed, where the documents lay scattered and stuck them back in the case. No doubt APIA would appreciate his conserving of the documents for his replacement. He left the case clearly on his bed- they'd have enough searching to do for him later anyway. He strolled over to the closet and chose a nondescript trench coat and hat. Then, quietly opening an amply curtained window, he found some footing and stepped out, climbing down the wall. Luckily, it was still raining and the dark clouds provided excellent cover. About 5 feet from the ground, he leaped, avoiding a puddle, and then walked. As he left, he could smell something delicious. Matthew's pancakes, I presume. A pity he wouldn't taste them.

"These are delicious, Matthew," said Ivan, smiling once again as he chewed on a piece of the freshly made pancakes. "Though I do miss my olad'yi. Perhaps tomorrow, I make some for you? "

"That would be wonderful actually, but it might have to wait. I'm supposed to begin my next mission tomorrow. I could have started today, but I thought it would be nice to welcome Arthur. Oh, and my brother's coming in today, I think. I wanted to see him too. I'm going undercover, and I thought I might not get another chance for a while… " Matthew chewed on his maple-syrup coated pancake thoughtfully. "Well, infiltration is easy enough… I wonder if I'll need the… No, that didn't work last time…"

Ivan nodded along, well used to Matthew's muttering. It was how he planned his missions. He, on the other hand, preferred to go with his instinct, acting as he saw fit. It was one of the things that made him such a good spy. He was completely unpredictable. It also made him a bit of a black sheep, since APIA liked their spies in nice little rows.

The two sat eating silently but for the occasional murmur from Matthew, as was their custom, when Matthew stood up suddenly, his fork halfway to his mouth. "Arthur! I completely forgot! He told me to wake him up!" He put his fork down on the plate. "Excuse me Ivan, but Arthur's probably starving. I can't believe I forgot." Ivan nodded, continuing to eat happily.

Matthew almost ran up the stairs. "Arthur!" he called as he ascended and again when he got to the second floor. "Arthur!" He walked to the door and rapped it a few times with his knuckles. "Arthur, the food's done!"

No answer.

"Arthur?" He didn't strike me as a heavy sleeper. How strange. Matthew opened the door. "Ar- oh." Matthew glanced around the empty room, noticing the rain coming in from the window, which, judging by the huge puddle beneath it, had been open for quite a while. "Oh dear."

It was no longer raining, but it was still dark outside, the midday sun unable to pierce the layer of clouds. Arthur had walked to the highest point of a nearly deserted bridge and stared down at the black water. One step. One step and I can be rid of this damned job, this world. I can be with Francis again. And even if I go to Hell, it can't be much worse than this. Arthur began to hoist himself up the wall of the bridge. I will be the last person I kill. He had one foot on the ledge, when a stranger walked near him, stopped and stared blankly. Arthur glared back.

They stared at each other quietly for a while before Arthur sighed in exasperation and brought his leg down. This dolt was ruining his dramatic exit. "Lass mich endlich in Ruhe!" He growled in perfect German. All part of the job.

"Sprichst du Englisch?" The stranger asked in equally concise German. "Ich ziehe es vor."

Arthur rolled his eyes, but complied. "Yes. Do you need something?"

"Coffee," answered the stranger. The stranger stuck his hands in his pocket, making himself comfortable. "So, you gonna kill yourself?" Ugh, American, obviously. Who else would tarnish the Queen's English so casually?

"Well, yeah, what does it bloody look like? Now leave! I'd like to enjoy my final moments in peace."

"Well, I'm not stopping you. Go ahead." Is this git egging me on?

"Want a show of it, do you?" The stranger didn't respond, preferring to stare back impassively. "Well, you're not getting one." Arthur crossed his arms and sat on the ledge. Great. I can't even kill myself properly. "Now leave." The man shrugged and turned his back to Arthur. Finally- wait. The stranger sat down next to him. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Sitting."

"I know that! Why can't you just leave?"

"But I'm not stopping you from killing yourself. I'm just sitting here. Go ahead and jump. I won't do anything." Arthur stared at the man, getting more irritated by the second. He gave his best glare, eyebrows furrowed, green eyes cold as ice. The American man peered up from his glasses, curious and completely unaffected.

"To hell with this!" Arthur jumped up and began walking away. The man got up and followed. Arthur turned his head. "Bugger off!"

"Just walking, dude."

"I am not a 'dude'. And can't you walk elsewhere?"

"Mmm, yeah, probably." The American continued walking behind Arthur. Exasperated, Arthur quickened his pace, spotting a crowded street. A market perhaps? Well, it would serve him well as an escape.Time to put those spy skills to use.

Arthur kept walking, slowing as he entered the crowd. He bent down and pretended to tie a shoelace, the American stopping behind him. Suddenly, he got up, aimed a kick at the American's stomach (hearing a very satisfying "Oof!") and ran deeper into the crowd. He took a left turn into an alley and climbed the wall quickly. There was no chance that the American could keep up. He ran a bit longer, then slowed to a walking pace.

He continued walking, unaware of where he was going, and ended up in a pub. I need a drink anyway. And I guess I won't be able to jump off any bridges soon. No, Arthur was a paranoid man, and wouldn't risk another incident like that. Well, that's bloody great. Stupid American. How am I supposed to kill myself now?

Arthur sat down at the bar, his stomach rumbling. Damn, I forgot, I haven't eaten since dinner with Francis yesterday… Arthur felt his pocket and found his wallet. The ID inside described him as "Benjamin Weber", an accountant. A rather wealthy accountant, thought Arthur as he looked at the money inside. Good.

"Oi, Barkeeper!" The bartender looked at him expectantly. "Zwei Spiegeleier mit Brot, bitte." The bartender nodded, and yelled at a cook somewhere.

"Kaffee?"

"Nein. Ale."

It was about 9 in the evening when Arthur finally stumbled out of the bar, drunk. He staggered back and forth, mumbling incoherently. "Francis… where- hic- are you?" The people around him wrinkled their noses in disgust, but continued on their way. "Yer like a tree. You lef'." Arthur laughed at his own joke, then started crying. "I killed you. Francis, why did I kill you?" Arthur kept walking, making his way towards the Berlin wall. "Francis… are you hidin' behin' dis wall? Come out Francis…" Arthur pounded on the wall. "Francis… please… come out… why did I kill you?" Arthur lumbered over to a checkpoint. "Eff I die, will I see you? I will, won' I?" Tears streaming down his flushed cheeks, Arthur sobered up for a second. "The guards'll shoot me if I run. Francis, I want to see you…"

Arthur struggled to climb the wall, slipping a few times. He almost reached the top, a hand stretching out, caught by a spotlight.

A machine gun fired, blowing dust into the air.

Suddenly, Arthur fell, a pair of strong arms pulling him to the ground. "Idiot! What were you thinking?"

"Francis? Zat you? Did I die?"

"No, dumbass, it's not Francis. It's me!"

"Francis, you… you look… funny. When didya get glasses?"

"Wow. How drunk are you?"

"Who's drunk?"

A groan. "Nevermind. I didn't think you really wanted to die! Fuck, what were you thinking?"

"…Yer not Francis…"

"No shit I'm not." Silence, then Arthur felt himself being lifted up.

"Hey, leggo!"

"Quiet. Someone's coming." Arthur felt himself carried to somewhere dark. "Great. They're looking for us now. If we're caught… well, you'll be fine, but I'm not supposed to be here. Shit."

Arthur could hear yelling in German and dogs barking, making him start breaking out of his drunken stupor. "Bloody hell," he whispered. "I need to get back to-"

"You're sobering up. Good. Can you run?"

"I- I think s..." Arthur's eyes started closing. "…Sleepy…"

"Shit! Don't' fall asleep on me!" The man shook Arthur's limp body. "Shit! Shit-shit-shit!"

Glossary:

olad'yi:Russian yogurt pancake

Lass mich endlich in Ruhe!: Leave me the hell alone

Sprichst du Englisch?: Do you speak English (casual)

Ich ziehe es vor: I prefer it

Barkeeper: bartender

Zwei Spiegeleier mit Brot, bitte: Two fried eggs with bread, please

Kaffee: coffee

Nein. Ale.: No. Ale.

A/N: I'll update soon! :D Don't you just love Alfred (yes, the glasses guy is totally him!) I hope I've written him right. :) Please review!

***Thanks to MelodyOfStarshine for helping with the German!***