I do not own Hetalia.

It has been a long time, I'm sooooo sorry! Lame explanation will be given after the story... so enjoy!

Chapter 7 Toris and Ivan

He came in a huge black van, the kind that makes a huge noise when driving down the street; it was a car to be jealous about, a car Harris looked upon with great envy and jealousy. It was a car someone drove who was well off, it certainly wasn't a car you often saw in their neighbourhood. Harris had been sitting on the wobbly chair on their veranda, enjoying the sun warming his skin when he saw the car the man drove who once upon a time had been 'Beth's husband. When Kirkland stepped out of his car Harris recognized him immediately. The man was fairly tall, but slender, with hair that seemed to glow red in the sun. He was very obviously middle-aged, with fine wrinkles in the corners of his eyes and mouth. Yes, despite the years gone by, Harris could clearly recognize the man's face in the few photographs he had seen. After Kirkland, another person stepped out from the car, a young man around twenty-five, hair a fiery and intimidating red and several piercings adorned his- admittedly handsome- face. Both looked around, the older man smiling softly as he took in the surroundings, obviously remembering this place in a happy mind-set, which was near impossible, if you asked Harris. The boy, however, looked exactly as you were supposed to look at downhill street; with disgust and contempt. Harris knew exactly who the middle aged man was, he hadn't changed that much from the pictures and an ominous feeling came over him.

The redheaded youth began to speak. "So this was where you hang out while mum was being a total bitch." The boy sniffed disdainfully. "Sorry dad, not impressed."

Kirkland shot his son a disapproving look, before turning to Harris. The man looked momentarily disappointed and surprised. If this was because it was a big surprise that 'Beth had found another man or that the man in question man was dirty and rough, he did not know. No matter, because Mr Kirkland seemed to shake of his surprise soon enough and made his way towards him.

"Excuse me," The man said. "But I'm looking for Elizabeth White, does she still live here?"

Harris glared at the man, he wasn't feeling particularly helpful towards Mr Kirkland, who had come up to him with determent footsteps, who drove a beautiful car and who had been the love of his wife's life. His heart was filled with envy and bitterness when he looked upon the man who seemed to have overcome the life that people lead in downhill street. Who had escaped poverty and seemed to be pretty well off. The man who was now back, back to ruin everything in his life that Harris hadn't yet ruined himself. Because he knew, he had always known, that if that man in the pictures Arthur so lovingly hid would come back. Harris –and 'Beth- would have to not only face, but atone for their sins.

So he glared, because there wasn't much more he could do.

"What's it to you?"

Kirkland didn't even seem taken aback by his hostile answer, he had lived in this neighbourhood after all and probably knew exactly what to expect. The son moved to stand beside the father and for a moment Harris was stunned by the trust he saw in the sons eyes, it had just been a glimpse in those eyes but it had been there none the less. What made Kirkland that good of a person? Why did he deserve the admiration of so many people? Hadn't he abandoned this son too? Hadn't he abandoned 'Beth? Arthur? Then why was he still loved?

And why did Harris himself, who would forever stuck with his wife, no matter how terrible their lives got… Why was he still loathed?

Harris clenched his fists. It was probably because loyalty wasn't enough to make another person care, love and believe. Other things mattered even more; restraint, responsibility, pacifism. Traits none of which Harris possessed.

"I wish to see her, I wish to talk to her…" Mr Kirkland spoke, voice full of confidence and mixed within it was the steely resolve of a man that had made up his mind. Maybe it had taken a long time for Mr Kirkland to find the courage and will to visit his ex-wife.

"…and Arthur too."

Harris froze.

Off course, off course the man would want to see the brat.
Harris made one, desperate attempt to keep the disaster on his doorstep out of his life. "They don't live here." He growled. "Never heard of them."

Kirkland blinked. "But…but I'm sure that are her dressed hanging out to dry there." He pointed at the laundry that was drying in the sun, the laundry that he himself had hung up, because 'Beth had been long since unable to do such things.

Damn it.

Harris frowned. "I said they don't live here." His voice was hard, he was trying to mask his growing worry and nervousness. "Now go away."

Now did Kirkland look taken aback and the moment of shock was quickly replaced with a look of anger and suspicion. His clear eyes moved from Harris face to forceful arms, to his strong frame and to his reddened and slightly scratched knuckles.

Then his eyes hardened considerably and Harris could see that Mr Kirkland would seize trying to be Mr. Nice Guy. He took a threatening step forward, his son next to him following. They seemed to move in perfect sync, but now Harris was too distracted to be jealous. His old chair groaned when he stood up with his full height; he was taller than Mr Kirkland, but shorter than the son. Nevertheless, he still tried to take an intimidating stance.

"Where are they?"

"I thought I told you to leave!"

Harris was about to initiate a fist fight, one he would not be able to win, when a soft creaking noise was heard and his front door opened. Freezing, Harris turned around.

There she stood, as pretty as the day he had met her. Her dress was moving softly with the wind as she stood in the doorway. It was the same dress she had worn when they had gone to the nearby meadow, when they had walked and run through the high grass. That night they had made love –because back then it hadn't been just fucking- under the starry sky, they had whispered sweet nothings, praising words and eventually they had softly gasped out each other's names. It was one of Harris's fondest moments in his life, even though Arthur had found them that very same night passed out between the green leaves, even though the day after they had yet again another fight, which left 'Beth bleeding and crying in a corner, even though deep in his heart Harris knew 'Beth longed for another man, the same man who her clouded green eyes were focused on now, as her dress swayed and the wind played with her long golden blonde hair.

'Beth was the love of his life, and Kirkland, Kirkland had been her's.

Kirkland was staring back at her and he gasped. "Elizabeth…"

She stood there unmoving, a blossoming black bruise on her right cheek. Mind long destroyed by alcohol, drugs and the loss of her dearest son. Did she even understand? Did she understand who was standing in front of her? Did she understand that this was the man she desired? The man's who's name she called on those rare moments that she lost herself? It had been months since she had been conscious of anything around her.

It had been months since she last spoke a word to him, yet, now, right in front of him, with her eyes focused on the man with the reddish hair and kind brown eyes, she opened her mouth and her soft voice filled the air.

"William…"

She extended one arm and a serene smile came upon her face.

"You…came…back…"

She was struggling to articulate, to keep her concentration long enough to speak words. Harris hadn't seen her this lucid in a very long time. She was visibly trembling with extension and from the corner of his eyes, Harris could see the horrified expression on Kirkland's face. How does it feel, Harris wondered, to see your once headstrong wife reduced to this state?

Is your heart breaking Kirkland? Harris hoped it was, hoped Kirkland was devastated. Hoped the man cared at least that much for the woman who could never quite stop loving the redhead, no matter how many pictures she burned, no matter how many people she slept with, no matter how much drugs and alcohol she took.

Do you see what you did to her by leaving?

Who is the monster now?

Harris knew it wasn't fair to think like that, knew the man had been right in leaving her with all the rumours floating around, he knew he himself had been a wretched violent man.

But still, in the end, Kirkland had been the one she had cared about the most.

And no matter how comforting it may have been for him to put some of the blame of her condition on the other, this simple and undisputable fact shattered his heard in a million pieces.

"Dear god," 'Beth's ex-husband spoke. "what happened to you? Elizabeth, what in the name of…" The man seemed to be unable to finish his sentence as fresh tears made it into his eyes. He took several steps forwards -this time without his son following, the twenty-something male was just looking at the woman with a astonished look on his face-and made it all the way to his wife's outstretched hand, wich he gently grabbed and cradled in his chest.

"…W-what i-is wrong with y-you?" his voice was barely a whisper, but Harris could still hear him.

'Beth slowly moved her eyes from the place Kirkland had been standing moments ago and settled them back into the other's eyes. Her hand that was hanging at her side twitched and moved to his face; it came back wet with tears.

Her mouth opened again and her next words, begging and broken, felt like they stabbed into Harris's heart. Those words, once again acknowledged the biggest mistake in his life, as well as in hers. The one thing they could never forgive themselves. And suddenly Harris understood why 'Beth could speak after months of silence, he could understand why she had walked out of the front door while the past several weeks she hadn't been able to move from their bed, he could understand why her eyes were sharp enough to capture the eyes of the one person she trusted with all her heart.

"Please…" she whispered, strong but soft. "Find him."

Kirkland froze, not wanting to understand the implication of those words.

"Find him, please, make him safe again."

Brown eyes widened.

"My dearest Arthur, don't let him get hurt."

What followed next was hectic and messy. Elizabeth's mental state caught up with her and for a long time she could not do anything but scream and cry. William Kirkland, horrified about the fate of his stepson exploded in anger and frustration. Scott Kirkland, the other son, held his father while the man raved and insulted, all the while his brown eyes-no longer kind- filled with tears. And Harris, Harris let it all come at him, he accepted all the threats and insults thrown his way, he accepted the kicks and slaps Kirkland dealt him. He didn't even protest when they came and took 'Beth away from him. Her words still rang within him, froze him to his very core. Made him realize once again, that 'beth had been a mother, a good mother, before jealousy, loss and temptation destroyed that part of her. And he, he had played a big part in destroying the soft-spoken mother who would lovingly read Arthur bedtime stories before he went to sleep, her eyes shining as if the stories she told about magical creatures, wizards and knights were all true. The mother who would call her son poppet and who would bake burned scones with little smiley faces on them. The mother who had told him exactly which place he held in her heart, miles away from the smiling boy with the clearest green eyes and the most intoxicating smile.

He had taken part in destroying her and instead there was this woman, with the same smile, the same eyes, the same laugh. The woman who let herself be hit and raped, who depended on her child for protection. The woman who's intoxicated mind had betrayed her own son. The woman who could not speak but a few words of pleading for her lost son.

Maybe it wasn't Kirkland that brought disaster into his world, maybe he was to blame for it all. Because let's face it, 'Beth needed care, Arthur needed another home, and he needed to be alone, far away from his loved ones so he would never, ever be able to hurt them anymore.

He was monster, he knew, a dirty despicable monster.

Like father, like son, it seemed.

"Hate me, arrest me, hit me," Harris told them. "I don't care, my life is in shambles anyway. Just tell me one thing. Tell me why you are asking questions about Arthur?"

The man who made his brother suffer was looking at them with an intense look. Alfred didn't know what he thought about this man. On the one side he wanted to pummel the man into oblivion for hurting his brother, for making him run away, for having a hand in the destruction of Elizabeth White. On the other side, the man seemed to genuinely hate himself for all that he had done and if Alfred was completely honest, he could not pin the entirety of the blame on the man. No matter how much he wanted to defend the poor woman in the hospital, mind destroyed and a victim of abuse, he couldn't deny that the person who had caused his brother the most suffering was most definitely her. Alfred's blood boiled at the thought of how those two adults had treated a young boy. There was no excuse, no justification; Arthur had been too young for the responsibilities that had been thrust on his shoulder, he had been too young to be treated that way, he had been far too young to be forced into the outside world, to manage living on the street alone.

But had he been alone?

The person that came back again and again in Arthur's life;

Francis.

Francis who had been his brother's friend, Francis who would pick him up after a nasty fight with Harris Morrison, Francis who had taken a baseball bat and defended his best friend.

Francis who would die just a few short years later.

No, Alfred decided, he would not take pity on this man. He would not take pity on Harris Morrison, no matter how much his life was in shambles, no matter what he had went through in his youth. Not a thing could be a justification for the way the man had treated his brother. Nothing could erase the suffering his brother went through, nothing.

The man should not be forgiven for his sins.

So Alfred's voice was laced with steel when he spoke. "Arthur's dead."

Harris shot up, his eyes wild and disbelieving. His arms trembled, his frame began to shake. Denial blossomed in his eyes. His voice was soft. "H-he can't be, h-he is young! O-only twenty-seven years old!"

"Was." Alfred didn't even blink. "Arthur was twenty-seven years old."

What followed was silence, in which Harris shakily brought his hand to his mouth. His eyes staring blankly at the carpet. "…dead?"

"Murdered." Came Matthias cold voice. "He was murdered." Harris slowly looked up, into Matthias eyes. Alfred shuddered at what those would look like right about now. "Tell me, Harris Morrison, where were you, the twenty-eight of July?"

The man's eyes widened. "Y-you can't possibly b-believe that I…!"

Matthias stood, his intimidating frame hovering threatening over the other man. "Seeing your history, seeing the amount of things you are likely willing to hide ánd seeing you are a disgusting pig of a man, I am very likely to believe. Now, where were you the twenty-eight of July?"

Cold anger was radiating from Matthias, it seemed that even less so than Alfred could the oldest blonde sympathize with Arthur's step father. From the corner of his eye Alfred saw Matthew laying a comforting hand on Matthias's clenched fist.

"I-I was here." Harris stuttered. "The whole day, a-a few friend can verify-"

"their numbers." Matthias forcefully uttered.

A few minutes later, Harris had shakily given the numbers of his friends, which Matthias had all but snagged from his hands. After that he had abruptly declared that they were leaving. Before they left, however, Harris had one more question.

"Does she know?" His voice soft, his body slumped and defeated, still sitting in that chair.

Matthias was already at the door, fist clenched and with his back to the man. Matthew was standing next to him, a hand on the blonde's shoulder and half turned towards Alfred, who he gave a mournful look. Alfred himself stood before the man.

"Yes." He answered. "Yes, she knows."

Harris nodded and slowly looked up. "H-how did she take it?"

Alfred was about to answer when a chilling, cold, steely voice interrupted him. "Is that all you care about, you dirty mongrel?"

"Matthias…" Matthew softly whispered.

"Is that all you care about? That woman?" Matthias was still standing with his back towards them, but he was visibly shaking in anger. "Arthur Kirkland is dead…" His voice broke. "He was twenty seven years old, and you made part of his life horrible. You are despicable, if I wasn't a man of the law I would grab my gun and shoot a bullet straight through your legs."

With those parting words Matthias stormed out of the house. Matthew soon followed, shooting his brother a worried look. Alfred watched them go, watched the door slam shut and shot a final glance at the defeated man in the chair.

"Aren't you going after them?" the broken man asked.

"You…you had an awful childhood too didn't you?" Alfred asked, his voice tight. "From what I understood, you also suffered…"

"Yes.." Harris looked up. "I did, maybe that's why-"

"But Arthur never hit us, he never hurt us. He had the same kind of childhood like you, only he grew up to be a great person…"

"Kid, what-"

"You blame a lot of things you do on the experiences in your childhood don't you? But what you did, there's nothing you can blame it on but yourself. Not your circumstances, not Elizabeth White, not even your father."

Harris glared. "And what would a pampered little kid know about-"

"In the end we are all responsible for our own actions. Matthias is right, you are despicable, but, something in me pities you too."

And with those parting words, Alfred left his older brother's childhood home. A home not filled with laughter and happiness, but screams and despair. The only remaining citizen a defeated bitter man, still helplessly in love with a woman who had long ago forgotten about him.

When Alfred walked out of the house and stepped into the yard, only Matthew was left in the garden. His twin was mournfully looking at the house next to Arthur's childhood home, the house were the Bonnefoy's had lived. Now it looked abandoned.

"Mattie?" Alfred joined his twin. "Where's Matthias?"

His twin shook his head and gave him a sad look. "He said he was going to check out those names, but…" His mouth twitched a tiny bit. "I think he needed a moment alone, he was really, really furious."

Alfred nodded, there was nothing left to say. They were all angry, they were all sad, but Matthias was the only one who saw those cases every day on his job. Beaten families, abused children, wrecked homes, for Alfred and Matthew it was something that stood far away from them, it was hard to imagine such a life. But for Matthias, it seemed that Matthias could very well imagine the life his best friend had lived.

"He could probably hear everything, the houses are so close together…" Matthew shook Alfred from his thoughts.

"Whatnow?"

"Francis, he must've heard them every time."

Alfred took in the other house and sighed before slinging an arm around his brother's shoulders. "Yeah, he probably did." He tightened his arms around his brother. "Kind of sad to think, that even though a lot of people could hear, the only person that came to the rescue was a kid himself."

They remained silent after that and started to walk to the car (Matthias had left it for them), on the way back to the hotel, Alfred was at once struck with an idea.

He smiled, there was only one person who could get his mind of all of this. There was one person who would be able to lift his spirits.

Kiku.

"Say Mattie, how about a little detour?"

The mansion always took his breath away, it was so incredibly beautiful and extravagant. The garden spacious and so very green. It was all fitted for a man of great wealth, Toris knew, and it seemed to fit with Ivan to a certain degree, just as –in the past- the abandoned building of their childhood had fitted Ivan, in a very different way. Luxury was something that belonged with Ivan, just like poverty and chaos did. Toris could never really make up his mind if Ivan was happier now, with all the power and influence he had required, or back then, poor and abandoned, oppressed, pressured but still together with everyone. Even Toris himself didn't really know what he preferred; his new life, with all its complications, or his old life, when everything was so simple, horrible, but simple. There had been no sides to choose, no question of loyalty. They had been street rats and all they had was each other. It was different now, Toris no longer knew who to trust, who to be loyal too.

The guards recognized him immediately and as the gates slowly opened, creaking ominously into the night, Toris felt the familiar nervousness settle in his stomach, the feeling he always got when he went to visit Ivan. He tightened his hands on the sunflower in his hands, the paper that was wrapped around it protecting his hands from the sharp thorns that littered the steel. Once the gate opened, one of the guards nodded his approval for Toris to proceed. Toris took a deep breath, looking out at the mansion illuminated by the almost full moon and the stony road that lead towards it. Then he walked, with short determent steps. Because this visit would be an important one, Toris knew it, he knew the moment Matthias Kohler asked about Arthur that things were going to change. It was in that moment Toris started to doubt his loyalty and his trust. Arthur had been killed, Ivan had told him months ago, but was the culprit to be found in London? It seemed like the three blondes thought it to be. Toris wasn't stupid and neither was Ivan, they knew exactly who those three were; a quick –and illegal-look into the database had solved that mystery, nor was it hard to figure out the intention of those three. But what worried Toris, was that Ivan had started to move, that Ivan had every intention to keep a close eye on those three…Why? Toris could think of a few options, very plausible and innocent options, but he could also think of a darker and more sinister reason for Ivan to take interest, and Toris did not like that at all.

At the door, Toris ignored the bell and instead moved a hand beneath his jacket and shirt, he grabbed the key that hung from his neck. Silently, he placed the key in the keyhole and turned it, the sound of a door unlocking startled him. Toris couldn't help but smile to himself; Ivan had not changed the locks, it seemed Toris still had his complete and utter trust. Even though Ivan had lost his. Toris didn't even feel guilt about this; he sure had changed. The door creaked when it was opened, and Toris stepped inside, the familiar surroundings filling his heart with nostalgia. He knew where he was supposed to go, so he walked up the impossibly large staircase and up to the first floor. Once there, it was the second door on the right. Toris could hear voices coming from the room, but ease dropping wasn't something one did in Ivan Bravinski's mansion, so he knocked two times and entered.

Toris wasn't surprised to see Gilbert there in the office with Ivan. He was disappointed, crushed even, but he had expected it nevertheless. Ivan was sitting behind his desk, ever the picture of power and intimidation. Gilbert was standing before Ivan, hands placed and he desk and a decidedly upset look on his face. When Toris stepped into the room, both men turned to him. Toris noticed Gilbert's eyes widen in recognition, and he was reminded that it had been quite some time since he and Gilbert had met in person. Toris let an easy smile slip on his face, the kind of smile that always took refuge on his face when he was uncomfortable, when he was near Ivan.

"H-hello Gilbert, Ivan." His voice, unsteady, increased the already touchable tension in the room. "I hope I'm not i-interupting?"

Gilbert flinched, clearly realising Toris was also caught in whatever Ivan had planned out in his twisted mind. Ivan himself was silent, only silently smiling that childish smile of his. That smile was the worst thing about Ivan, it reminded Toris of both how cruel and venerable the Russian could be.

"Toris!" Gilbert tried to sound upbeat and carefree, but Toris could clearly hear the tension in his old friend's voice. "What are you doing here?"

Toris merely smiled and stepped forward, past Gilbert and towards Ivan. With slightly trembling fingers he lay the wrapped sunflower before the Russian, who seemed pleased with the gesture. Ivan seemed to no longer mind that Toris couldn't meet his eyes nor stop his body from shaking when the big man was in the vicinity. Toris could clearly remember a time when Ivan would've been heartbroken with that.

Ivan's cold eyes moved from the sunflower to Toris's own eyes and the latter had to supress a shiver. With the cildish smile still plastered firmly on his face, Ivan spoke to the smaller male.

"Toris, what a surprise." His words were spoken without emotion, but Toris knew that Ivan was extremely confused by his sudden appearance. "I did not expect you to come visit me tonight, it has been a long time we spoke face to face, da?"

It had been, Toris realized, years and years since he had last seen that pale hair, that big frame, those dishonest eyes. Sure, they had spoken occasionally on the phone, but it was there that Toris had drawn the line. The current turn of events had changed a lot within his life.

Toris nodded and lifted his head. "It has. Though the same can be said of Gilbert, can't it? How long had it been that you two saw each other?" He was surprised his voice had sounded steady and strong. Toris had always been like that, strong when he needed it most, weak when confronted with his own fears and desires.

Ivan frowned. "Are you implying something, my little flower?" Their eyes locked and Toris was momentarily thrown off by the endearment, until he realised that had been the whole point of his old nickname. Toris once again was confronted with the severity of the change within Ivan.

"What are you planning?" Toris did his best to make his voice sound strong and unwavering, it was one of the hardest things he had ever had to do.

Realisation seemed to seep into the big Russian, and his expression became thunderous. The Russian abruptly stood, the chair he had been sitting on falling down onto the ground with a loud clatter. After that Ivan stood motionless, paralysing Toris with his very eyes, eyes that bore into his soul. It took every ounce of willpower for Toris to remain standing and to not turn around an flee the place, the beautiful mansion that once could've been his home. Ivan seemed to have realised that Toris didn't trust him anymore.

Gilbert stepped forwards, obviously not understanding the situation, but nevertheless comprehending the severity of it. He placed his hand on Toris's shoulder.

"I am here by my own free will Toris." His voice was quiet, so unlike himself. "We want to find the people responsible for Arthur's dead… Ivan thinks he found them."

Poor, misinformed Gilbert. Toris knew exactly who Ivan had pointed out to be the bad guys.

Toris broke eye contact with Ivan to look up at Gilbert, he hadn't changed much he noted, still those fierce red eyes and that snowy white hair. But there were wrinkles in his face that shouldn't have been there. Sharp lines that had formed because years of suffering and sadness. Yes, Toris realised, Gilbert must've suffered a lot because of Arthur's dead, he had probably suffered the most out of all of them.

"Alfred F. Jones," Toris started. "Matthew Williams and Matthias Kohler. Isn't that right?" Toris saw the surprise in Gilberts eyes. "You are not the only one Ivan relies on Gilbert. I was the first to notice them, though I think Ivan knew of their existence long before that."

Slowly a grin formed on the albino's face. "Hah! I should've known you were informed too! Why do I always forget how resourceful you can be!"

Toris nodded. "And what are you doing here Gilbert?"

"I've come to help Ivan in finding the assholes who killed my old friend. Ivan said he had a way to find out, so I came to him. Those three people are suspicious, as are their actions, maybe they aren't the killers, but I have a feeling they can be the key in unlocking the truth. I'm going to keep a close eye on them-"

"Gilbert." Ivan's strong voice interrupted. "Leave."

Gilbert shut up immediately, hearing the hidden threat in the Russian's voice. He gave a last glance towards Toris – the hand on Toris's shoulder squeezed reassuringly- and turned around. When he arrived at the door, Gilbert's voice spoke up once again.

"I will do what you ask, Ivan. But whatever I find, my loyalty towards Arthur will never waver."

And with that Gilbert disappeared out of the room, his footsteps could be heard walking away and now Toris was alone with a displeased looking Russian. There was a minute of silence, before Toris manned up and opened his mouth.

"why?" He asked and Ivan seemed to slink back behind his childish mask. The man straightened his chair and went to sit down again.

"I do not understand to question, little Toris. Maybe you should be somewhat clearer, da?"

"I looked them up for you, you know this. They all have alibi's, Arthur's two brother's and his close friend, they did not kill him. You know this, yet you still send out Gilbert to investigate them, yet you still enlist me to hack their personal files. What are you after Ivan?"

A childish smile was his only answer. Toris clenched his fists, why had it turned out like this?

"Why are you using us to monitor their movements? Why are you… Why are you acting like those three are your enemies? Why are you lying to Gilbert? Why are you trying to keep me in the dark?"

Ivan leaned heavily on his desk, eyes so very, very cold and smile so very, very cruel. "You are asking a lot of questions, da? As for our beloved Gilbert; he knows exactly who those three are, though he would never admit it, I have merely not informed him of something he already knows. My little Toris, can't you accept that I am merely trying to get as much information as possible regarding not only Arthur's dead, but also his life in London? As you know very well, we all had intriguing secrets, some of them should've never been buried."

Toris eyes widened, that night so long ago flashing before his eyes.

Gilbert was shaking while Toris bandaged his bruised and bloodied knuckles. His red eyes haunted, tears still streaming down from his face. Toris was shaking too, from the sheer horror, from the sadness invading his heart, from the crippling fear that would never truly leave his body again. The room they were in was cold, but Gilberts skin felt hot to the touch. "He is dead, Toris." Gilbert sobbed. "Francis is dead."

Ivan was standing in the corner of the room, emotionless as always, he heavy voice broke through Gilbert's desperate sobs and Toris own pained whimpers. "What about Arthur?" Because without Francis there was no Arthur, just like there was no Francis without Arthur.

Gilbert curled up into himself, emitting a wail of despair. "He is lost, the police took him away."

"Ivan…" Toris started. "What are you planning?"

The Russian's eyes smouldered. "That is not the question you really want to ask, is it Toris?" This one time, his name was uttered without any affection is its tone.

What did he want to ask? What was his biggest concern? What had driven him to visit Ivan once again, even after he vowed to himself to be independent from the Russian? Was it Ivan sudden actions? His persistence to know everything that was found out about Arthur's dead? Or was it the feeling he had, that feeling that Ivan was falling, falling into the black pit of despair that he himself created? Or was it simply the fact that he could not believe that Ivan had done anything to one of their own?

What did he want to ask?

What answer did he crave?

"I-Ivan…" His stutter was back. "Did y-you kill Arthur?"

Because whatever answer he might get, one thing was obvious; Toris did no longer trust Ivan, no matter how much he still may love him.

There really wasn't any other way to say it, no other way to explain the ridiculous situation they were in than to just tell the absolute truth, the current situation, the bare facts

They were in a tree.

Yes, yes, it's true.

A. Tree.

And not in some hypothetical way or used as some sort of expression. No, they were psychically in a tree. A tree that stood opposite of a house, a house that was currently being resided in by a lovely family of four and their guest for the week; a guest that was competing for an important kendo event, an event they had witnessed several days previous.

In short; they were stalking Alfred's ex-boyfriend…again.

"Alfred, I'm pretty sure this is illegal." Matthew tried to reason with his brother, who was intently staring at the window to the guest room; Kiku's room. No movement had been detected yet and they had been there for hours.

Matthew found himself wondering; why had he promised Alfred he would help him out with Kiku? Last time he checked he wasn't that stupid. Maybe Alfred had just secretly gotten him drunk and he had failed to notice.

"Nah, bro, off course not. Now, can you hand me my bag?" Alfred asked (far too loudly, somebody was going to notice them if Alfred wasn't more careful).

Matthew sighed, well, since he was already sucked in deep enough…"Here," He handed Alfred his bag, the other blonde immediately latching on to it and digging in to it with an enthusiasm nobody could imitate. "I'm just looking for…Ah! Here it is!"

And that was it.

The drop that spilled the glass. The last straw. The icing on the cake.

Alfred had pulled out a pair of binoculars.

Binoculars.

Now, Matthew might not know a whole lot about love, or relationships, or ex-boyfriends for that matter. But spying on an ex in the middle of the night high up in a tree while looking through binoculars (binoculars!) most definitely wasn't very normal, sane, safe, morally justified or a reason to get pledged not-guilty before an accusation of stalking. His brother had most definitely gone down the deep end.

"Alfred!" the soft-spoken blonde hissed.

"Yeah?" The idiot blonde asked back (again far too loudly).

"You can't do that!" He nervously glanced at the window, praying nobody would notice them, he knew Alfred would get them into trouble. "Give them here!"

"What, these?" Alfred through a confused glance the smoking gun he had clutched into his hands. "Why?"

"Yes, these!" Matthew made a grab for them, but Alfred simply dodged, which wasn't very hard; since they were both residing on different branches. "You're being a stalker!"

Alfred's eyes widened innocently (who was he freaking kidding?). "No I'm not!"

"Yes, you are! Now gimme!"

"No Mattie, listen, I'm just making sure that no harm befalls my beautiful-"

"By spying on him? By watching his every move?" Matthew interrupted. "What, if he happens to walk into his room and started undressing or something, would you still be spying; making sure nobody could harm him?"

"Of course! Undressing is very dangerous, remember when Matthias tripped on his shoelace and fell down the stairs? Thirteen stitches Mattie! Serious stuff right there! Plus, Well…I did bring donuts,-"

"Oh my god!" Matthew threw a disgusted look to his brother.

"Mattie, chill, I'm just kidding." Alfred reassured him with a chuckle and a bump-to the shoulder bump." If something like that would happen I would be a total gentleman, just like Arthur taught us to be."

"But, we're sitting in a tree, darn it!"

"It's a brilliant idea! A tree is espionage, it's like were James Bond, or Indiana Jones or.. or…"Alfred's eyes seemed to glow in the dark, emitting hopeful admiration. "BATMAN!"

"Alfred! Shhhhhh…! They're going to hear us!"

"Ow sorry..." Alfred shot him a grin, his ugly-stupid face shining with childish enthusiasm. "But you've gotta admit, we're being pretty badass right here, aren't we? Saving the damsel in distress?"

"Stop with your weird fantasies, Alfred! Kiku isn't a princess (or a woman) and we're not 'saving' him. You, however, are being a jealous creep!"

"I'm not! I'm being romantic! Like in those books Arthur used to read, what was that dudes name again? Cakespear? Schmakespeare?"

"I believe you are referring to Shakespeare, Alfred Jones."

Matthew froze, he was not the one who said that.

As usual, Alfred was rather slow in the up taking, for he turned his head towards the window, gave Kiku (who was standing in his room, by his window, with a katana in his hand) a thankful nod, and turned around again to continue his argument with Matthew.

"Yeah, Like those stories that Shakespeare wrote, you know, Romeo and Juliet and the balcony-" realisation seemed to seep in to the other's tiny brain as he frowned, blinked and again turned his head to the no-longer-abandoned window.

Next came the flashy (and awkward) grin before in his limitless and never ending wisdom, Alfred addressed his lost love. "Kiku, what a…What a surprise meeting you here… Do you come here often?"

Matthew groaned, Kiku cocked his head to the side (which would've been incredibly cute, if he hadn't also unsheathed a little part of his blade and was currently emitting a furiously dangerous aura) and Alfred didn't stop.

"Ehmmm. So…do you?"

"You're in a tree." Matthew admired the complete lack of emotion in Kiku's voice, personally, he would've freaked out ages ago.

"Y-yeah, you know; just ehmmm… chilling out…a…a bit. So ehmm, Kiku! Long-time no see eh? I see you've… grown… and eehm…oh yeah! Ahum; My lenses turn dark in the sunshine of your love."

Matthew groaned again, apparently, his brother had decided that it was a good idea to 'whoo' Kiku with the pick-up lines he had read in Matthias's little black book the night before. Matthew prayed to god to install the wisdom in his brother to shut up.

"There isn't any sun, it's night." Kiku's deadpan voice replied. Again, a little more shiny silver katana appeared." Furthermore, we haven't seen each other in a very long time, Jones, and these are the words you choose to speak to me?" For a second, Matthew saw hurt flash through Kiku's eyes. However, the hurt was quickly replaced by the anger once again. "I will ask you one more time, what are you doing here? If you don't answer immediately, I will wish you a nice fall to the ground." The katana was completely unsheathed and raised now and Matthew felt impending doom foster in his heart.

"No, wait!" Alfred yelled. "I want to talk to you!"

Kiku raised his eyebrows. "Talk?"

"Yes! About what happened and stuff!"

"Why would I want to talk to you?" Kiku's voice betrayed some emotion in that sentence, it seemed he was still bitter about the break-up. "When you had the chance, you certainly didn't want to talk to me."

Alfred winced as if he'd been slapped, before sadly nodding. "I know and you didn't deserve that… just, please? Can we just talk?"

For a long time both former lovers kept staring at each other, a thick tension in the air. Alfred seemed desperate, Kiku was unreadable.

Finally Kiku spoke. "Fine. I'll see you in two days, at the park where you were spying on me."

"Yes! Thanks Kiku, you won't regret…" Alfred said. "wait, you knew about that-"

"It's agreed." Kiku closed his eyes, before raising his katana once again. "Now, goodbye."

And not even a second later the branch was severed clean through and both Matthew and Alfred lay on a heap on the ground. They lay there for a while, in considerable pain. Before both entangled themselves from each other and the branch. Matthew looked at his brother, his brother looked back sheepishly.

"Smooth, Alfred, real smooth." Matthew sarcastically told his brother.

"Oh, shut up." Alfred countered. "At least I got his attention."

Yes, Matthew contemplated, when they were well on their way to their hotel, Alfred had gotten the Asian boy's attention all right. But was that really a good thing? Hadn't Alfred just completely obliterated the remaining trust Kiku still had for him? His last remaining respect? Or had the boy been moved by Alfred's determination? His love? Matthew knew Alfred really loved Kiku, he had seen it in the devotion in his eyes. Most probably, Alfred didn't know how to deal with getting the Asian teen back; hence the tree fiasco.

"Alfred, are you okay?"

Alfred nodded at him, before staring of ahead, looking but not really seeing. "Maybe…Maybe you were right, in the tree I mean, Maybe I am going a little overboard. I just…I just really wished something would go right for a change, you now?"

"Alfred…"

"I really, really miss him, and I really, really want him back. I just don't…"

"You just don't know how?"

"Yeah…" Alfred smiled. "you know, Arthur would always try to give me relationship advice, and I always tried my best to ignore it… but, in the end; his advice always seemed to work." He sighed. "Which is strange him being an old hermit and all. I know I'm being a whiny bitch, but… It just seems like everything is just going downhill; like everything is just slipping away from me. First our parents, then Arthur, then Kiku… Now were here, in beautiful London and we're hearing heart-breaking story after heart-breaking story… Sometimes, I just become so desperate to fix something, I just want something to fix. Maybe then, I won't feel so goddamned angry all the time…"

Matthew didn't know how to react to that, not so long ago, he would've known exactly what to say to make his brother feel better again. But now, he hadn't even a clue. Furthermore, Alfred wasn't the only one upset; they were all dealing with it.

"What about you?" Alfred spoke up. "How are you dealing with everything? Doesn't it break you down? I get angry and lose control…But you… Sure, I can see everything affects you too, I know it affects you too… But through it all, you stay so goddamn strong." Alfred clenched his fist. "Not once did you lose it to your emotions, not once…"

"Alfred, I-I'm not strong…" God, if Alfred only knew how weak he really was…

"Yes you are! And honestly… It kills me to know how far we've grown apart, I mean; we've been totally cool with each other recently and that's a total improvement, but anything could set us off, I know that. And well, I used to know everything you were thinking, I used to read you like a book… but not anymore, I can't figure you out anymore… And I want that to change, I Just want to go back to the way things were, you know, before. I know Arthur can't rise from the death, but I want you and… and I want Kiku too."

Unwittingly Alfred had just spoke the very thoughts that had circled around in Matthews had a few seconds previous. Matthew shot his brother a sympathetic look. "At least we're no ignoring each other anymore, Alfred, It will all be okay in the end, I promise."

"Hah" Alfred smiled sadly "We really destroyed something good didn't we?

Matthew answered his smile. "I guess we did, but there's always time to build it back up again."

And Matthew meant it, because just like Alfred, he wanted it so very badly.

Rain hit the ground in a terrible downpour, as if the skies itself were weeping for their lost brother. Matthew could feel every drop, could sense every smell, could hear every sound. He was conscious of everything around him, so very, very aware. It hurt, so incredibly much.

It hurt to see the always smiling Alfred looking so cold and numb, it hurt seeing Matthias barely holding on, the tears permantely staining his cheeks. It hurt watching that coffin descend in the ground.

His hand was strangely devoid of comfort or warmth, this time, Arthur wasn't there to hold it. This time, it seemed he stood alone.

But he didn't want to, dear god knew that he did not, he didn't want to bear the burden that was on his trembling shoulders, he did not want it, but mostly, he did want to bear it alone.

Violet eyes took in the straight back that belonged to his brother.

Strong confident Alfred. Alfred who had done everything possible to save their brother, Alfred who hadn't even shed a single tear since it happened, Alfred who was the one person he could trust with all his heart and soul.

Alfred, who he might be able to tell the truth to, share the burden that lay so heavy on his shoulders.

Alfred, who might be able to save him.

Hesitant, slowly, Matthew creped forwards, till he was standing right next to his beloved twin. The smaller blonde took a moment to study the other's face in more detail, but he could see no more that rain on his skin and a coldness in his eyes, a coldness that had never sought refuge in the sunny blonde before. Scared of the expression, shocked beyond believe, Matthew turned his eyes away, down towards the ground.

It seemed like they had both changed.

But maybe, Matthew moved his arm, unclenched his hand and sought Alfred's own, maybe…

He finally found it, hanging lifelessly, open. With a tiny spark of hope, Matthew slided his hand in Alfred's. It was the only thing that was warm, the only thing that seemed to unfreeze his heart just a tiny bit, the only thing that gave him the courage he so desperately needed.

Maybe, even after all this, they could still have each other…

But before he could suck in just a tiny bit of warmth, before the first cracks could appear in the ice surrounding his heart, before he had enough courage to even believe he could lessen his terrible guilt, before any of this had a chance to occur…

Alfred made a annoyed sound in the back of his throat and tugged his hand free. Matthew stood there frozen, as the rain continued to pour, as he felt the cold consume him, as the ice circled his heart into an impenetrable barrier, as guilt slammed into him like it had never before.

It seemed that even strong, confident, wonderful Alfred could smell the dirt that marred Matthew's very soul.

Matthew didn't like to think of that day, he didn't like to think of the day his one brother was buried and the other rejected him. He didn't like to think about the months after that either, when he had buried himself into every chore, every assignment available to him, so that he could just be busy, that maybe, if he worked hard enough, he could forget.

Sure, Matthew had been opposed to the trip from the very beginning, he still was, in a very real and convincing way; but he couldn't deny that the trip hadn't been good for them. Yes, Alfred was right; the stories they heard were not stories that were easy to hear, to take. But they were stories about their brother, they were stories about suffering, commitment and love, and Matthew couldn't wait to hear them all, to hear everything there was to know about his big brother. Furthermore, the trip had been good for Matthew and Alfred; they were forced to interact once again, and Matthew had forgotten how much he really loved Alfred.

"Matthew?"

"Yes, Alfred?"

"I might not be able to read you anymore, but it doesn't take a rocket scientist to know something's up with you…Are you okay?"

"Matthew! Are you all right?" A British voice yelled, full of worry and despair. Meanwhile the young teen could only accepted the tender embrace that followed; Arthur was here, he was safe.

Was he alright?

He stumbled into the garden, were nobody was watching him, before his legs collapsed from under him and he fell to his knees. It was dark out and the stairs were shining brightly on him. That night he wept, not out of sadness, not out of pain or anger. No, he cried real tears of relieve, because even though his brother had died and his heart was still encaged in a prison of ice, he could finally start believing in his own innocence, he could finally let go of the horrible guilt that kept chasing him. He wanted to forget, he was allowing himself to at least attempt to forget.

"…Mattie?"

Was he okay? It seemed, under the circumstances he was holding on. And although he could not be entirely truthful towards Alfred or Matthias, he was beginning to realise that didn't matter all that much.

Alfred came with the idea of going to England, of finding the person who hurt their brother. Matthew wanted whoever hurt Arthur to burn in hell for all eternity, but he could not forget his big brother's wishes nor could he ignore his heavy heart. For some reason, he was not able to forget, to let it all go. Going to London was only going to worsen this, it was only going to add to his doubt, Matthew did not want that.

He did not want to go to England.

What mattered, what Arthur would've wanted, was for them to become a family once again. A family, they weren't there yet, but they were going into the right direction.

A family.

That, it seemed, must've been Arthur's true last wish.

Letters to you.

Arthur,

I managed to sneak back just fine, but I can't come tomorrow. How is it there? Are Gilbert and Elizabeth still nice to you? They seemed okay, especially that Gilbert, the way he insulted your eyebrows was trés manifique and creative too! Elizabeth I'm a little afraid of though…

Alors, ma Cherie, I will see you in about three days: mother seems to have come down with something and I would like to take care of her a little.

Au revoir,

Francis

I hope you all liked it! A special thanks to all my reviewers out there who kept reviewing even after I was silent for so many months. The reason that I didn't wright is old and much used; it was a writers block. But it wasn't only that, I needed to figure some stuff out in RL, which are still prominent in my mind now, but I shall not bore my dear readers with my problems!

I only hope that the chapter was to the satisfation for those that waited both long and short.

If it is not to much trouble, please leave a review! I'm ashamed to admit how much they truly motivate me!