A/N: First of all, apologies for being so late with this. I have been busy with my actual job, and university started again, so yay for more work! Also, I recently got sick, so that has been hindering my writing recently.
As an apology... well... have some vague backstory! Instead of solving the actual case.
Uh. Yeah.
chapter 3
whisk it away
Matthias raised the glass to his lips and gulped a good portion of beer down his throat, letting out a satisfied sound when he brought the glass back down to the table.
"The stuff here is really good," Matthias remarked, wiping his mouth with the back of the hand that had held the glass. "Haven't had any good beer lately, I imagine?" he added with a side glance to Arthur, who was quietly sipping at his own drink.
Arhur snorted. "Been on a cider diet recently," he admitted regretfully.
Matthias hummed, empathy clear on his face.
Arthur resisted the irresistible urge to punch Matthias's teeth in.
"Not that you should take anything stronger than that, anyway," Matthias hummed as he raised his fingers up for another order. "Weren't we supposed to talk about Emil, anyway?"
"I'm trying to be polite and give you time to get yourself and the story together," Arthur insisted, waving his hand impatiently and tad exaggeratedly before his own face. "You're just as scatterbrained as Alfred, that silly doofus, when it comes to retelling events in any order."
"You sure you just don't want to relive the old times?" Matthias laughed, but the laughter died too soon for it to have been real. Arthur had always disliked that in the other blond: that forced yet natural-sounding laughter that hid so many things beneath the tinkling sound.
Yet, it wasn't any of his business to care, and so he didn't.
Everyone fell on hard times sometimes, after all. It was a fact of life. A fact of the universe, really — too much good will bring about a disaster or two.
"No," Arthur confirmed firmly, trying to vanquish the haunting thought off his mind. He had always been unbearably emotional when tipsy, and he didn't want to go there now. This was about Lili Zwingli — the very least he could do was actually gather the information before deducing and finding the blasted prick who did her in.
"Just talk already, I haven't got the rest of the day to spend with you." He discreetly glanced at his wristwatch. It was getting close to six, now… Apparently Emil had evening lectures. What a bad coincidence.
Matthias sighed, cradling his refilled glass between his palms as he considered. "Yeah yeah, I guess you're all about business today, Arthur." He raised one hand to fiddle with the spikes of his fringe, which had undoubtedly been spiked up with gel. "Lili and Emil were pretty good friends, you know— or wait, no, you don't."
Arthur restrained himself from huffing in annoyance by sipping on his beer, taking silent comfort in the alcohol.
"I dunno, really. That day when Lili died, she wasn't at university. Didn't attend any of her lectures. Emil said he thought she was sick." Matthias's shoulders slumped as though it was him who was grieving greatly. And for all Arthur knew, Matthias could be — the Dane (well, half-Dane, but fuck that) had always got ridiculously attached to people he didn't even know well.
Perhaps Lili had been one of those people…
"Go on," Arthur encouraged softly. "What happened that day?"
"He tried calling her after his biology lectures. He wants to be a marine biologist." Matthias laughed again. "He's a smart kid. Got through high school with much better grades than I did all those years ago. Even better than Lukas's grades, which pisses Luka off."
Arthur dared to smile against the edge of his glass, though there was a twinge in his heart. He managed to swallow the liquid in his mouth with some difficulty.
"Lili and he were really great friends, and they were supposed to go out that night, I think, but he never saw her that day."
"But that's odd, isn't it?" Arthur threw in a protest. "She died between 8 pm and—"
"12 am," Matthias finished with a shrug as he threw his back, gulping down his beer. "Yeah, the cops told us that much."
"..Anyway. It was the following morning Lili was found. Emil had spent the evening trying to call her, and he… he slept badly." Matthias swallowed thickly as he banged the glass down on the counter with unnecessary force. "Next morning he went to take a walk. Apparently walked farther than he thought he would 'cause he ended up near Braginsky's red-light district."
Somehow, Arthur managed to swallow again.
"I dunno for sure why Emil went through that alley, but that's where he found her. In that dumpster. He said the lid was half-open, which peaked his curiosity — or his paranoia, I guess — and that's when he…" Matthias trailed off, voice distant as it faded away, jaw clenching tightly as though he had been the one to discover Lili's brutally stabbed body.
"He called the cops immediately, of course, but you know how such a sight affects people who aren't used to seeing uncensored violence before…" Matthias sighed, slinging an arm around Arthur's shoulders. The action startled the shorter blond enough for him to accidentally knock his drink over.
"What's the big deal, you arse?!" Arthur protested as he pulled himself away from Matthias and the counter, staring at the wet stains on his pants with mildly inebriated disgust. He nearly swayed as he stood up, but that didn't stop him from glaring Matthias hard.
"Oh, c'mon, what's a little stain gonna do to your pants, anyway?" Matthias's roaring laughter filled the bar, and Arthur's face heated up and eyes narrowed into thin slits, sharp tongue ready to lash out at the other's clumsiness.
But, at the sight of Matthias's eyes that held no amusement for his misfortune as they usually would, Arthur relented and sat down again, mumbling an apology to the bartender who had come to dry the counter and been eyeing Arthur with apprehensive expectation.
"So, Emil discovered the body," Arthur managed to say as the bartender withdrew from them, "and that's that, huh? No idea where the lass spent her whole day?"
Matthias's gaze sunk to the counter, eyes hidden from Arthur's view. A moment of silence passed, several seconds too long.
"None whatsoever," Matthias said, slow and tentative, "but it's impossible to think that she'd have been at a club enjoying illegal drugs, you know? She isn't… wasn't that kind of girl — she visited Emil a few times at our place, so of course I know."
"Did Emil spent any time with her the days preceding the incident?" Arthur asked, rubbing at his temple sluggishly as the alcohol did its job. That was just… what, the third jug so far? Man up, Arthur.
"Well, yeah, sorta, I guess. They were studying for the midterms or something, I dunno the specifics…"
"You're useless, then," Arthur snapped.
Matthias's brows furrowed as he glared back at the fellow blond, and suddenly he seemed to slump forward, expression drifting between intense anxiety and exasperation. Arthur nearly started at the sudden change in Matthias's emotions — perhaps the other had drunk too much already? Though Arthur wasn't any better off; the nostalgia that was familiar from past evenings spent on alcohol had crept upon him like a spider upon its prey, and he could feel the familiar stinging sensation in his heart as the emotions weighed on him.
"Matthias?"
Matthias sighed and put his jug down. "S'just… the girl was nice and all, a pretty little princess and Emil was kinda… well, kinda like Luka, kinda reserved but with a dorky side."
"Didn't know Lukas had a dorky side," Arthur muttered and downed the rest of his beer. Speaking of dorks, that made him think about those two idiots. He quickly ordered another beer before he could go down the memory line.
Matthias gave a short snort, but it sounded forced, and Arthur thought that this murder had really been hard on Matthias as well, after all. Deaths did tend to do that… Idiot, he chastised himself as his eyes stung.
"Yeah, he does," Matthias murmured as the chatter in the background grew louder as more people poured into the bar. "It's always the people you'd least expect to have such a cute side. You, too, Artie."
The old nickname made Arthur nearly choke; god, it's been so long since anyone called me that.
Had it been Matthew who had called him that the last time?
"Don't call me that," he said automatically, tensely as he rolled his shoulders and willfully ignored the stinging feeling in his eyes. No, today he was not going to cry. "And I don't have a cute side!"
Matthias laughed heartily at the heated denial, and slung an arm over Arthur's shoulders. "Nah, man, you have one. Like, I remember your drunken rambles about Harry Potter and what was it called… Mint Bunny? I don't even know, man, but that was kinda cute, though we're not five anymore, Artie."
"You shut up now, Matthias. Besides, Harry Potter is suitable for anyone regardless of age, you daft arse."
"Is that your excuse when you're in your sixties and crying over Neville Longbottom?"
"Fuck you. I'll be watching Mary Poppins by that time."
"Hahahaha! See, you totally have a cute side, just like my Luka!"
"Do you want a black eye like in the good old days, Matthias?"
A couple hours later, and Arthur stumbled into his office slash apartment with his bag and scribbled notes he had made in taxi hurriedly, though the slips of paper were stained with tears that had fallen despite Arthur's valiant efforts to keep them in.
He dropped his baggage the moment he closed the door, which he then slumped against and slid down to the floor as his legs gave in.
His mind buzzed with irrelevant thoughts, and his heart ached like it did every time he went out for drinks these days, but slowly he managed to pull himself together in the silence of his office.
Matthias's words still rang in his ears — Emil liked her, you know, and it was that kinda crush people get and never forget even if they don't act on it — and Arthur's chest felt tight, as though something was swelling inside his lungs.
Emil's face from earlier reappeared in his mind, and maybe it was the sentimentality of a drunk, but Arthur thought he could now see the sorrow in the lines of Emil's face and in the depths of pale purple eyes. Or perhaps it was himself he was seeing in his mind —
Arthur let out a choked sob before furiously wiping at his eyes. He should focus on the case. He really should, he realized this even through the buzz alcohol always gave him.
"Matthew…" slipped past his mouth, though, and it was the last straw — the expression on Emil's face that brought back memories of Alfred's face from two years ago… Lili Zwingli… Vash Zwingli…
The thoughts and memories swirled together, no doubt thanks to the alcohol in his system, and Arthur cried, body shaking as he curled into himself.
The morning came and went before Arthur reached consciousness again — though with his awakening arrived the regret and all the 'why' questions as well as a headache the size of the Rocky Mountains.
"Ugh…" Arthur grunted as he untangled himself from the floor where he had slept uncomfortably the past several hours, cringing as he heard cracks from his neck and spine. The light trickling into the room through the windows made him wince and curse out loud as he rose, stumbling every step on the way, and gathered the files and notes he had hastily taken last night.
If he was glad for one thing, it was that at least he hadn't had any dreams that night either.
It was time to figure shit out from all this, though Arthur had yet to visit Lili's other friends — which he knew he should do, but like hell was he going to deal with people while hungover and irritable. That'd be like willingly exposing himself to Alfred's idiotic video game sessions. (Though Alfred's vocabulary in cussing had grown impressively, Arthur had noticed the last time.)
He looked at the scribbled notes he had taken in the bar, wincing at how sloppy the handwriting had got later on, but somehow he managed to understand the misspelled and grammatically incorrect text despite the loopy handwriting.
What he had got from Matthias… was that Lili had been loved dearly by Emil, in most meanings of the word. But was there a world Lili hid from Emil and her other friends?
Arthur sighed, eyebrows twitching. Opiates could mean Ivan's underground clubs, but it's not like Ivan was the only Big Bad out there — and that meant a shit tone of clubs to investigate.
Was this why Francis had given this case to him?
To set him up for some discreet undercover work? He hadn't been in the police force for a while now, so not every bad guy out there remembered him anymore, and he'd blend in with his rugged appearance and… alcoholism.
Arthur grimaced, and his head throbbed more.
Damn you, Francis Bonnefoy. The shit he went through for that sorry arse.
That evening, he found himself bathing in fluorescent lights and good old-fashioned music — a contradiction in the making, truly, but Arthur liked it despite the visit being made on the grounds of professional reasons. A drink in hand while lounging on one of the rich-colored sofas, Arthur looked like just about any other club-goer, especially with his ripped jeans and old punk shirt.
It was a nostalgic outfit, but there was no room for nostalgia today.
Arthur's eyes swept the vast room, roaming over the customers and the staff in lazy, careless manner, only stopping when they saw a familiar silver-dyed hair. Oh. That was not the person he had expected to see here. Maybe he was on acid without knowing it. That'd explain seeing him.
Arthur's eyes narrowed before closing as he downed another shot, his mind buzzing pleasantly but containing a sense of lucidity that was foreign to him. The music changed into one of The Beatles' greatest hits, and he absently hummed and nodded his head to the lyrics. Classics. Now this was the kind of club he liked, even with the illegal substances that were dealt out in the open.
Even now, he could see from the corner of his eyes two people negotiating heatedly over a price of a bag of what he thought to be heroin.
"C'mon, dude, 200 bucks? I don't have that much on me!"
"Too bad for you then. Only paying customers get the real good stuff."
Arthur paid little attention to the transactions, especially after having caught glimpse of another annoying bloke, and merely got up to join the dance floor when the nostalgic Beatles changed into 80's disco music. Absolutely cringeworthy, that music, but the tempo and the rhythm were great — and with an inebriated grin, he swayed to the dance floor.
It was a real criminal lair, this one. Shady and dubious to the boot, laughter and music accompanied by sex and drugs. The kind of club Arthur used to go to in his teen years, and the kind of place he had hung out with Francis at for one too many times, unwillingly and unwittingly.
So he wasn't unused to bodies bumping against each other on the dance floor nor to the smells that made the air thick and sickeningly sweet-scented. Arthur half-cringed, half-grinned as he relaxed and swayed to the beat of the music, eyes raking the crowd for anyone with a connection to Lili. (He had memorized the photos and names of Lili's friends — perhaps one of them had a connection to these places.)
The music boomed around him, addictive and leg-itching; bodies swayed and rocked, forming a tangled mass and individuals disappeared into the chaos of clothes and bodies, and the fluorescent lights flashed around them, colors of lighter and darker shades flickering around Arthur in a hypnotizing fashion.
It didn't surprise him too much when he felt hands on his hips and a low humming from behind him, though he flushed in embarrassment as it had been a very long time since he had allowed intimate touches like that — asides from the slinging-an-arm-over-your-shoulder thing that Alfred was always doing, that moron, and Francis's nose-flicks, but did those really count?
"What's an old mutt like yourself doing out here?" Arthur had been previously content on letting the hands stay where they were, but the highpitched, cackling voice of someone he kind-of-loathed (which is, to be fair, almost everyone in his life) made him flinch and turn around, hand clenched into a fist and ready to punch the git, but Gilber Weilschmidt had, not surprisingly, realized the intention and taken a step back with another burst of cackling laughter, red eyes gleaming and silver-dyed hair shining beneath the fluorescent lights.
If Arthur had felt dizzy before, now he just felt nauseous — he hadn't counted on meeting Gilbert of all people. Heck, he'd have preferred Ivan. Hell, he had intended to meet Ivan, though hoping to pull of the air of coincidence in that meeting.
"You..!" Arthur flinched, cringed, and did a double take to make sure it was actually Gilbert and not some alcohol-induced vision. There went that hope. "What are you doing here?!"
The easy, disgusting, shit-eating grin couldn't be mistaken for anyone else's. "I should ask you the same think." Gilbert nudged at his side, right where Arthur was sensitive on. A garbled snort-giggle was drowned by the music, but Gilbert's overbearing laugh said he had heard that.
Arthur didn't bother to respond — more like, he couldn't. The surprise had worn off quickly, and now icicles were forming somewhere within him if the cold, numbing sensation spreading through him was anything to go by. Weak and distracted from his mission, Arthur quickly left the floor, eyes seeing nothing as he mindlessly rushed away even though he hated escaping like a coward.
He got out from the building, followed by yells of indignation as he had bumped into quite a few people, and he took a deep breath the moment he felt the night air meeting him like the embrace of a loving mother.
(Gilbert. Matthew. Why is Gilbert here. Matthew. Matthew…)
Arthur took a shaky breath, trying to reign his racing thoughts and memories, and tried to… what? He had come over here with no plan whatsoever, other than his vague search to see whether Lili's friends frequented the place, and now he was out, leaning against a dirty old brickwall after having exited the club in haste after seeing Gilbert, Matthew's old…
Why was it that this case had brought up his past like this again? Lili Zwingli — Vash Zwingli — Gilbert — Matthew.
Why now?
After looking for clues for so long, a sudden murder just happens, and the victim is none other than the triggerhappy officer's younger sister.
Arthur closed his eyes, sinking against the hard bricks, and tried to regain the lucidity from earlier. The cold night air soothed him, but the wet trails on his cheeks refused to dry as they soundlessly traveled down his face, the sounds from the club and the surrounding city working as a contrast to the serenity of the moment.
A moment or two or five passed, before someone scrambled out from the club's backdoor, the same exit Arthur had used, and effectively startling the slumped detective.
"Hey, what was that all about, Artie— Not awesome at all!"
Arthur cringed, his head throbbing with something other than a simple headache. "Get a hint, you git."
Gilbert's face now came and invaded Arthur's vision, blood red eyes full of curiosity and restless energy Gilbert was so famed for. Yet, Arthur could detect the hints of the strain the years have put on Gilbert, and some ridiculously vindictive part of Arthur was glad for it.
Gilbert tilted his head, lips quirking up a bit unnaturally, and something remarkably close to hesitance flickered in his eyes and appeared in the curve of his intoxicated smile that made Arthur sick.
"What're you so upset about now, Artie— you haven't seen me in so long! Is that a way to greet your old classmate? I don't think so."
Arthur felt dizzy; he hadn't drunk all that much, but the neon lights may have done him in — or perhaps it was the shock of seeing Gilbert again after all this time. The painful memories brought to surface this suddenly; what could be crueler? Though, this whole case had already made him think about Matthew — if only because of the Zwingli association.
But…
"Gilbert," Arthur managed as he staggered away from the other by sliding unelegantly to the side, back still slumped against the wall, at whic Gilbert snorted before grabbing Arthur by the arm.
"Seriouslyyyy," Gilbert whined, "it's like you think I killed Mattie."
Arthur couldn't breathe, couldn't afford to think, to remember— "Gilbert," he stressed the name, his anger flushed out of him as the hurt widened the crack in his heart. That was, at least, how the throbbing felt — like a canyon was forming inside him. A monumental moment at the wrong time and place.
"You know I don't think that," he said, slowly, the breath leaving his mouth forcefully, as though it was squeezed out of him. "No matter how infuriating you were, I never-" This, too, was unlike Arthur — to find himself at a loss for words, so choked up in the memories that his world has gone blank and dizzy. In this state, he grabbed Gilbert's shoulder just how the other had grabbed him from the arm.
He hadn't noticed it before, but now that he clutched at Gilbert, it was difficult to ignore Gilbert's fragility — what a ridiculous notion — that had never been there and yet was now.
As though Gilbert could easily crumble at the slightest touch…
Arthur may not like the man — did he like anyone for that matter — but…
Gilbert's eyes narrowed into their usual slits. "Artie," he whispered, voice strained and lips curled down uncharacteristically, "I loved Mattie."
"Do I look like I care, Gilbert- Unhand me, you fiend!" Like a dramatic, flamboyant creature of darkness, Arthur tried to swat and shove Gilbert off of him, but the German had always been stronger than what his appearance suggested and his grip was vice-like. Whilst struggling, Arthur accidentally hit his shoulder against the brick wall, the sharp pain eliciting a whimper from him.
"Artie," Gilbert repeated, grip tighter than before, "I didn't kill Mattie."
"I know," Arthur growled, "I know. You have alibis for the other crimes-"
"No," Gilbert interrupted heatedly, voice slurring. "You're not getting it. I couldn't… have killed… Mattie." Gilbert paused, breath coming out in soft puffs, and Arthur thought he saw cold sweat on the side of Gilbert's face, though the heated red eyes still demanded most of Arthur's attention. The sorrow in the swirls of red was captivating in the worst sort of way — the way that Arthur was familiar with, after seeing the sorrow reflected on his bathroom mirror every morning these past months and years.
A harsh wind blew by them, whistling around the corners of the alley, but both ignored it in the heat of the moment. Green and red eyes set to stare one another; one hand gripping one arm, another hand on the other's shoulder, and a connection heavier than either would like.
Arthur felt his eyes sting first, followed by the thick feeling in his throat that usually preceded crying or other kind of an emotional outburst — neither which he wanted to have in front of Gil of all people. Even in his less than sober state, he didn't want this weakness to be exposed and exploited.
Before he could say anything else, Gilbert surprised him by slumping forward, leaning onto him as though Arthur was his life support, hand moving from Arthur's arm to his shirt and whole body quivering in the cold weather. Arthur only now noticed the tank top Gil had been wearing, and that itself made him shiver in turn. Jesus, this boy… man… manboy… was a wreck.
"I really loved him, Artie," Gil (when had Arthur ever called him by that horrid nickname didn't matter) breathed out with heavy emotion, nose somewhere in Arthur's shoulder and hands still clasping the hem of Arthur's shirt. Where's my jacket, Arthur wondered briefly and with serious concern. It was his favourite one, oh god.
"I, uh…"
"Who could have killed my Mattie? He wasn't a druggie, you know, or anythin' like that. A cool guy with cooler hobbies and awesome cooking to back all that ass up…"
"Tell me about it, mate," Arthur sighed, heavy-hearted as he pictured Matthew's face in his mind. That gentle smile on a kind man's face… "It's not the… the same without him."
This case may have a different official name in the police records, but to Arthur, this one would always be "The One that Brought Matthew Back"…
