A/N: Okay, so, I am now creating an updating schedule. This will be my last update (maybe) for this story for the month. I am going to have to have a really orthodox schedule since my mind is . . . well . . . orthodox. I will focus solely on ONE story per month, but my uploads will be sporadic to say the least. Next month I will be focusing on A House Divided, so if you read that one too, yay. You can celebrate. If I finish the story within the next month, I'll come back to this one and hopefully get it finished. If you're curious about how much more there is, we are about halfway done. I really want a slight romance between Ghost Ivan and Alfred. We'll see though.

He knew the man now, but after looking through all of the records in town, he could safely assume the man did not live there. He phoned in the city and received similar results. He threw his paper ball into the air as he thought through the situation. Whyntir wasn't from the area; even through the neither county nor state systems could he get anything on the guy. He was just about ready to call the Feds and ask about it. Then again, those guys were always too busy to even give a bit of information. Like that one guy who always talked in a valley-girl accent . . . That he suddenly seemed to know from somewhere.

"Come on Toris!"

In the snow, in the dark.

"We can totally make it like this!"

In the snow, in the dark. Afraid. So afraid. The voice shook, from the cold or fear, it was indecipherable. Feliks was the boy's name. He knew a man named Feliks who worked in the FBI; Feliks Łukasiewicz. Quickly he snatched up the phone.

"Hello, this is the Federal Bureau of Investigation. How may I help you?" a woman's voice asked, crisp and clean.

"Yes, hello. I am Police officer Alfred F. Jones and I need to get a hold of FBI Agent Feliks Łukasiewicz."

There was a heavy sigh at the other end for whatever reason, "As you wish sir. One moment please." There was a second's wait before a recognizable voice answered.

"Tak? Łukasiewicz speaking."

Alfred leaned back, "Hey Feliks, this is Alfred Jones, you remember me from a few years back?"

"Hm, oh yea! I totally remember you. Like, how have you been? Oh, and those twenty bucks, like, totally save my ass. Like, seriously, thanks!"

"Hey no problem," the American laughed as carefree as possible, "Anyway, I have a case sitting in my lap that's as cold as the North Pole and a sliver of a lead has lead me to be calling you."

"Really?" he could hear papers shuffling, but they weren't nervious, "Like, what do ya need? I can get you background checks, telephone records, the works."

"Actually, this case may involve you. Quite directly actually."

"Whao, what do you mean 'involve' me? I didn't do nothing."

Alfred waved his hand as though trying to fan the other's bad mood away, "whoa, whoa, didn't say you did Feliks. May I simply ask you one question and just say yes or no, depending on your answer I'll ask another or let you do your job. 'kay?"

He could see the shrug, "Yeah, sounds fair. Shoot."

"Do you, or did you know anyone by the name Toris?"

"Yeah. He's my partner. Toris Laurinaitis."

He scribbled down the name, quickly, "Alright. How long have you two known each other?"

"Since I was, like, really little. Seven I belive. Yeah, totally seven."

Feliks was only eighteen, but he was a genius in the Academy. That was when the two of them had first met, though in passing. Only three years ago did they actually become aquainted during a joint investigation that he and Arthur were in with Feliks. At the time, Toris was not there, but the Polish blonde had told them that he had a partner as well. What boggled Alfred's mind was how high they scored on their exams back in the academy. When it came to self-preservation and tense, sort of worst-possible-situation events, they scored perfect one hundreds. The academy could rightfully boast of having the best scores on sections of the test. Now that he thought about it, he did know Toris, though never met him in recent years.

"Could you describe him to me?"

"Tall, but not over six feet. His hair is shoulder length and brown and his eyes are green."

"Two-out-of-three, remember that rule Toris?" . . . The boy from before, with the long brown hair . . . His dark hair reached his shoulders and his green eyes shined in determination.

"What was the Two-out-of-three rule?" Had that just slipped?

There was silence at the other side of the phone, Alfred just barely making out the rustle of paper clenched between shaking hands. Short, rapid breathes passed through as Feliks recalled the darkness, the fear, and the pain. Two-out-of-three. Two –out-of-three. Two-out-of-three had made it.

"Where did you get that information? Did . . . Did Ivan escape? Is he there with you!"

His ocean blue eyes widened, even though everything pointed to Feliks being the one he was looking for, it still dropped his stomach to his feet and his heart lodging itself in his throat. Quickly, he pulled himself closer to his desk and lowered his voice, "Is it possible for you and Toris to come out here sometime. I don't think the phones are secure."

A pause, "Yeah, we can totally get out there. Like, when do you need us?"

"How about I call you on my cell phone once I get out of the office, okay?"

"Right, that makes sense." The other relayed his own personal number and they hung up. As Alfred placed the phone back in its cradle, he suddenly noticed the thin sheen of perspiration on his hands as they shook slightly. He was so close.

Once back at the apartment, he dialed the number he had written down on his hand.

"Tak, Feliks."

"Hey, are you alone?"

"I'm with Toris. I told him about . . . our earlier conversation. We decoded to come see ya ASAP, so were about an hour from the city."

Alfred blinked. They were as eager as he was to understand what was going on, "Alright. How about I meet you at the Starbucks on Main Street?"

"Totally. Um, Toris wants to talk to you." Alfred heard a soft, 'here he is' as the phone was passed oved.

"Hello, Alfred right? Why are you contacting us? You can save the details when we meet, but give me the overall now so I know at least an outline of what is going on." The man's voice was soft, yet tense. Nervious, but confident. Above all however, scared. But brave.

"I'm taking over the Braginsky Case and something has led me to you."

"Ivan." His voice was only a breath.

A sweet waitress, her hair a bright blonde and tired in a ribbon, wearing a dress placed his cup of coffee on the table as Alfred waited for the FBI Agents to show up. "You look tired Alfred, is everything alright at work?"

He hummed graciously as he sipped the black liquid, "Yeah, I may have made a break in the case I'm currently working, but I'm waiting for some people to show up. Can I make a request?"

"Sure, I'll do what I can."

"Can you keep the tables around us clear? I don't want someone to listen in."

She gasped, a hand to her mouth, "Is this one of those risky jobs they put you boys through!"

He smiled weakly, "You can call it that."

Less than twenty minutes later, two men walked into the shop. Snow fll in drifts outside and completely covered their shoulder's and hats. They were in plain clothes meant for warmth, just as Alfred was. The second he saw them, they immediately took on their childish appearances. Their faces had thinned out and they had grown, but otherwise they had not changed a bit. They saw him and immediately walked over. Alfred stood and shook both their hands.

"I'm glad you made it okay. The snow is heavy this year," Alfred commented sitting back down as the other two took their seats.

Feliks waved his hand, pushing the subject away, "It's, like, totally nothing."

Toris leaned forward, straight to the point, "How do you know about the rule? Feliks told me on our way here. The only way you would know about it is from us, or if you were there. And if you were there, you wouldn't be asking."

"Yeah. This is going to sound crazy."

Feliks chuckled darkly, "Nothing is crazy to us anymore."

In the matter of ten minutes, Alfred told them everything, from how he had become interested in the case by listening to Yekaterina's singing, how his chief was friends with the family and how he had given up the case, to his visit to the house and the vision of Ivan in front of him.

"You aren't crazy," Toris defended when Alfred paused for a drink of his cooling coffee, "Ivan . . . isn't one who would let himself go. Not even after death."

His blue eyes flashed as he slowly placed the cup on the table, "So you think he's a ghost?"

"I know."

"Then that's comforting," he joked lightly, "I picked up one of his songs after I got my senses together. Actually, I have it with me." He pulled the paper out of his inside pocket and let the other two pore over it. They handed it back once finished with their reading, Toris wringing his hands worried while Feliks licked his dry lips nervously. The American continued, "When I first read it, I had visions of what happened. In one of them, the longest one, both of you were in it. You were both housed with Ivan in his cell and you," he motioned at Toris, "you got out somehow."

"I was in league with one of the guards. He wasn't a bad guy, he was just as scared as we were," the brunet worried his bottom lip, "He moved the bar cutters from a storage room somewher in the building, meybe even outside, and put them in a solitare cell in the pillow case. He then made up an excuse to put me there and I snapped through the bars before getting to the others."

"Do you mind if I write this down?"

"No, not at all."

He pulled out his note pad and wrote down everything as the brunet repeated his statement. "Can you tell me his name? I can promise that he will not have charges brought against him if I can help it."

"Mathius. I forget his last name for my life. He was from Denmark with red-brown hair, that's all I can remember."

"That's more than enough."

"It was Ivan," the Pole mused softly, "He showed you what happened."

"Also, that song was written while he was imprisoned."

"So he came back and rewrote it."

"That's the only reasonable assumption."

Violet eyes peered at them through the window, but they were too wrapped up in their conversation to feel his presence. Still, a small smile stretched his thin, pale lips as they came a few steps closer. Just a few. But his eyes stayed trained on the police officer, Alfred Jones. His blue eyes were beautiful as they changed shade with his thoughts. He was such an open book, but the story was breath taking.

After eight years of nothing but numbing cold and the feeling of hollowness, he felt the soft flutter in his chest. It wasn't a heart beat, since a pulse would never pound through his body again, but it warmed him up ever so slightly. It was such a good feeling, this warmth. This Hope. He had forgotten what it truly felt like. He really had.

Alfred suddenly sat straight, "Do you know where you were?"

The Lithuanian shook his head, "Not if you're asking for a town or anything."

Feliks nodded in agreement with his partner, "All we can tell you was that we were up North."

"That's not really helpful."

"By North we mean Canada."

A/N: Hahaha, comments on my name choice. Crash course on the history of my penname XD. Long ago back in middle school, I role-played too much than is healthy for any sane human being. One of my characters I created had the name Winter (this is well before Hetalia, I'm sorry). My buddy had then wormed herself into my judgment and piqued my interests with reminding me how some names are spelt totally different from how they are said. That was when I came up with Whynter. Immediately after that I added the I to make Whyntir. Hence, I came into being ^^. So I don't know who came first, who is the chicken, who is the egg. No one knows. Either way, I wanted to make a distinct difference between the season and the person. That way Alfred could have that little revelation and a tinge of irony on how Ivan described the way death was. Last chapter he described death as a harsh winter, the man's name is Whyntir. Yeah. I'm weird like that ^^.