Chapter Two, where Matthew finally gets time alone with his brother; and then gets to know Ivan a little bit better.

Matthews head pounded dully in his skull. He wheezed as he woke up, his stomach flipping. He hadn't had anything to eat except the champagne last night. He needed a beer…

There was a raid assault of knocks on his door. Matthew sat up and looked around. He was in a tiny guest room, somewhere in the West end of Arthur's sprawling estate. The room was quite simple, with one window, a mattress on the floor, a lamp and a bookcase filled with book whose names blurred. Matthew groggily groped the floor around the bed for his glasses when the violent onslaught of knocks came again.

"What." Matthew yelled at the door.

The visitor paused before Matthews brother pushed the door open and entered. He was dressed casually, in a white t-shirt and jeans, a bomber jacket flung lazily over his shoulder. This was a deep contrast to the smart, navy suit ensemble he wore to the meeting last night.

Matthew shuddered at how badly it had gone. Confusion, fighting, followed by the increased flow of 'clients', to and from the small office. After the last visitor had left, Alfred had gotten up, dragging Matthew with him, ignoring Arthur's splutters and Francis' hapless pleas in French. They ended up staying anyways, finding rooms and falling into them, exhausted. Alfred wasn't going to be in the best of moods today.

"Mattie!" Alfred exclaimed, a little bit strained. There were dark bags under his eyes and he hadn't shaved yet.

"Al. What time is it?" Matthew asked, his watch being located in the suitcase across the room.

"10 am!" Alfred replied happily.

"Why are you so damn happy?" Matthew asked, crawling out of bed to pull on a shirt.

"Whoa, are these books in French? Crazy shit!" Alfred exclaimed, squatting beside the short bookcase and ignoring Matthews's question.

"I dunno, what does it say?" Matthew asked, still waking up. He pulled on his glasses and peered at his brother. "Al, whatever happened to Kumajirou? You said you took care of him after you picked me up."

"Kennel. Ooh, Annaliese, Colin et leur amour? What does that mean?" Alfred asked, pronouncing the foreign words in a phony French accent.

"Annaliese, Colin and their love." Matthew replied. He sat back down on the bed. "Al, you can't put a polar bear in a kennel."

"Well, I did." Alfred said stubbornly. "They kept saying how he was such a big 'Newfie' and how rare it was to see an albino one. They practically inhaled him." Alfred slumped against the bookcase, his grumpy mood finally seeping through his shining optimism from before.

"Why did you want to come here so bad?" Matthew finally asked.

Alfred moped for a minute before answering carefully.

"I was so mad when he called me, asking me to come up to London. He asked me to bring you and I was so mad, I dragged you over, just to spite him. And then this. Not any bonding or crap, not even a 'hey, how've you been?' A job, he wanted us for a job. He meant so much to me, Matt, and when he left, I just cracked." Alfred rested his head in his hands, angst emanating from him. "Doesn't it hurt to see Francis again?"

Matthew flinched, unpleasant memories tearing through him. He sighed. "You know that's different, Al."

"Matt, ours was real too; or at least, I thought it was."

"I know. What I had with Francis was just a fling. I mean, I don't regret what I did, but it's over." Matthew explained.

"Isn't it weird," Alfred said, looking up suddenly, "That we each had something for the two guys who brought us up?"

Matthew grinned. "Nah, they only fostered us for four years. Doesn't count, Al."

Alfred smirked. "Wanna know something?" he giggled like a girl, gossiping about a past boyfriend, "Arthur couldn't hold his liquor. That's why he only drinks champagne."

Matthew snorted. "Really?"

"Yeah, he would get so smashed and completely lose his mind. He got so paranoid about it. He watered down all of his alcohol before drinking it."

"Well, Francis used to have this thing for French! And, like, all the time." Matthew snickered.

"It would get him all turned on?" Alfred asked, astonished.

"Mmmhmm," Matthew nodded; a bit too seriously. The boys burst out in giggles again. "Hey, wanna go get a beer?"

"But its still morning." Alfred asked suspiciously.

"Eh, in Canada we drink beer all the time." Matthew lied, waving off Alfred's thought. He was finally going to see his brother again.

"What, in bloody hell, are you two doing?" Arthur asked stone-faced.

"We're having a beer!" Alfred told him, holding out his bottle. Many more littered the table in front of him.

"Not in my kitchen are you doing anything." Arthur said.

"But Arthurrrrr, where else can we drink it?" Matthew whined.

"I don't care. Besides, that isn't even beer." Arthur spat.

"B-but, then what is it?" Matthew asked, wide-eyed in mock dramatics.

"Ivan's vodka. Read the label," Arthur said.

"But it's all blurry~!" Alfred examined his bottle curiously.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "IVAN!" He called up the stairs. "IVAN!"

The bulky Russian arrived in moments. "Yes?" he asked, grinning.

Arthur shuddered involuntarily. "Matthew and Alfred got into your vodka. Can you take them back to their rooms?" The petit man suggested.

"Yes, I will do it." Ivan answered unblinkingly. He stepped across the room and picked up both of the intoxicated men and threw them both lazily over his shoulders. He crossed back to the door.

"Arthur!" Alfred called.

"Shut up Alfred, I don't want to hear your drunken ramblings." Arthur sniffed.

"But, don't you want some." Alfred frowned, "We all know how long it takes for you to get drunk…"

Alfred winked sleazily as Arthur spluttered in shock. "Why you little git…"

And with that, Ivan carried the brothers out of the kitchen and down the hallway.

"Hey Mattie, we should get beer more often." Alfred proposed, his slurred voice echoing down the hallway.

"Cheers." Matthew giggled in agreement.

Arthur sighed.

'What a strange dream…' Matthew thought as he woke up again. He pushed off his covers and looked for his glasses when he spotted a blurred figure crouching in the corner. Matthew leapt up, standing on his bed and against the wall.

"Whose there?" Matthew asked. He couldn't make out the figure without his glasses.

"You are looking for these?" The figure asked in a heavy Russian accent. Matthew sighed.

"Can I have my glasses?"

"Da." Ivan got up and strode across the room in 2 quick steps. Matthew sighed again as he roughly took his glasses out of the hands of the burly man.

They were eye-to-eye, with Matthew standing on his bed. Ivan was smiling.

"I hear you see General Winter every year?" Ivan smirked.

Matthew flushed, "H-how?"

"Do not be worrying, Matthew дорогой." Ivan smiled. "I see him too."

"But Ivan, do you not have money?" Matthew asked. His clothes were designer and he wore a variety of beautiful, expensive-looking rings on his fingers.

"Нет, General Winter is my friend." Ivan grinned. "He lends me the money for this," Ivan pulled open his large coat, revealing the source of the bulk. There was a lengthy array of handguns and knives, all neatly arranged and tucked into Ivan's coat.

Matthew simply gasped, astonished. "So many weapons…"

"I never lose, Matthew." Ivan quickly did up his coat, smiling creepily again. "But I think we should be friends, yes? My sisters seem to like you too."

Matthew thought back to Katya and Natalia, the two stone-faced polar-opposites. "Sisters?" He asked skeptically. "You're all related?"

"Step-sisters I guess." Ivan shrugged. "My father was a very foot-loose man. He never stayed in wed-lock very long. Katya pretty much raised both Natalia and I from birth, since he was never around either."

Matthew didn't know what to say. "I'm, s-sorry?" he offered apologetically.

"Now, Matthew, you come from America, yes?" Ivan carried on, ignoring Matthew's statement.

Matthew felt his face flash red. "N-no." He sighed. "Alfred is from America, I live in Canada." Again.

"Oh? I thought you were being brothers?" Ivan inquired.

"Yeah, but you know how business is." Matthew said.

"Yes… business." Ivan sniggered cruelly.

"Why are you here anyways?" Matthew snapped, beginning to feel annoyed.

"You drank my vodka, you owe me, yes?"

Matthew coloured again.

"But," Ivan drew closer to Matthew, their foreheads pressing together. Matthew suffered his sickly sweet breath. "I can let you pay me back later." Ivan snickered before leaving.

Matthew stood on his bed, catching his breath and wondering what the hell had just gone on there.

No Matthew, it wasn't a dream ;D

Translations:
(Russian)
дорогой - darling/dear
Нет - no

From the last chapter, Gilbert was Alfred's drug dealer, his 'side' business was stealing some of Ludwig's imported guns and selling them for himself.
From this chapter, General Winter is a loan shark.
More on Alfred/Arthur & Matthew/Francis' strange relationships further on in the story.

Please stick around for the next chapter?