Details: AU.
Pairing/s: Prussia/Romano, (TBA)
Warning/s In This Chapter: Romano's alive and kicking, a...bottle of lube?
Note/s: I'm sorry this took so long and thanks to all those who put the story in their alerts/their favorites and to those who reviewed.
'The Reasons Why'
Chapter two: There are those who worry
With the headache gone for good, Lovino decided that it was high time to get off his ass and put his shirt on.
Gilbert had gone right after he'd taken a shower, not bothering to wake the younger man up to tell him where they were meeting, which proved to be more than just a little problem right now. Lovino couldn't read minds nor was a he a psychic and therefore, could not, for the life of him, figure out where the hell that stupid cabbage had gone off to.
But then part of him knew that with his luck, he would be unlucky enough to find him.
And he did.
Right after he stepped out of the elevator and walked to the café with the biggest window.
He felt his legs weaken at the sight of Gilbert toying around with what looked like a carrot on his plate, poking at it idly with his fork.
Lovino checked his watch, the one thirty that was spelled out for him clearly through the short hand and the long hand (that threatened to strike 1:35 if he didn't move any time soon) brought an unfamiliar feeling of guilt and part of him wanted to apologize when he got there and sat down ...in front of a criminal.
...never mind the apology.
He strode in, blaming the elevator ride down (30 floors was much, enough said) for the walk that took much longer than necessary.
He took hold of the chair, his fingers sinking into the cushion as he pulled it back, not making much of a sound since the floors were carpeted.
Gilbert only noticed him when he pulled the chair forward, looked at him quietly for awhile with a vacant expression on his face, which, though very blank, made him seem like he was actually thinking.
The Italian snickered.
The action somehow, snapped the German out of his trance. The older man smirked slightly, dropping his fork gently and leaning back to fold his arms across his chest.
"And here I thought you would take my absence as an opportunity to leave."
...well, shit.
Lovino huffed defiantly, glaring pointedly at him, "I was going to say thanks."
"..."
He shook his head in disbelief at the lack of response from the second party, "for not… leaving me out on the street to die."
Gilbert's smirk returned almost instantly.
And here he thought he'd actually rendered the guy speechless. He mentally sighed in resignation to the prospect of such happening, so much for that.
"I wasn't expecting you to come down here, 'thought you were smarter than that." He shrugged, looking amused.
"Are you calling me an idiot for being grateful?" The younger snapped, nearly ready to strangle him from across the table. Gilbert raised his hands, as if he were a criminal caught (oh, hah,that was funny).
"No, no. Actually, yes but it's not--let me finish, okay? ...I'm just saying. You could've left when you had the chance..."
Lovino blinked, unable to decipher the look in his eyes? He was pretty sure it had to do with something perverted though.
However, Gilbert left it at that and picked up his fork again. "And besides, I found you in a bar. I was kidding around too, didn't think you'd agree."
The black haired man frowned, that last statement was not going to get him to ask--
"Agree to what?"
Oh screw this.
He had nothing to lose anyway.
"I would answer you now but that would be very inappropriate in front of all these people." Gilbert mock-whispered, with a suggestive lilt in his voice.
Lovino' eyes widened but then narrowed when he recovered, "you could say it."
"I know." Gilbert smiled, still continuing the game of hockey with his food, the buttered carrot as his puck. "But it'd be much more fun to make you remember that way."
Scowling, Lovino ignored him and chose to occupy himself with the menu.
As much as he possibly could.
"If it helps," Gilbert grinned, "you were drunk last night. So the chances of you remembering are pretty slim."
Part of him actually felt relived that he couldn't remember much, save for the whole spontaneous plane ride and getting knocked out after seeing platinum blond and red but another, more idiotic part, kept nagging his brain to recount everything from after stepping inside the bar to before passing out somewhere in between.
By the time three in the afternoon rolled around, Lovino found himself situated on one of the benches across the street from the hotel, thinking more. Perhaps it was time to actually start with it, make it a part of his life, instead of just rushing into things before he had the time to sort everything out in his head.
He fell back against his wooden seat with a tired sigh, the puddles under his shoes making light plopping sounds, disturbed by the sudden weight of his foot. Thinking too much led him to certain questionable things though and it didn't take him very far either, though he attributed that to the slippery ground and the snow having just melted. His pant legs weren't spared from his short trek, not that he expected as much. The only 'pro' he was relying on was the peace and quiet he'd asked for after lunch…which wasn't much of a request, more like an announcement of his leaving and Gilbert shrugging it off.
He pretended it didn't sting that after the German constantly prodded his resolve, he would just let him go like that.
"You have attachment issues, get over them."
Lovino distinctly remembered the voice of his boss and …grandfather.
Still, he insisted,
"He kept saying shit about last and night and fu—"
"Oh, do go on, cheri."
Lovino sat up straight, eyes scanning immediately for the source of the voice –but he wasn't so thankful that all he had to do was look straight and up, because he was sitting down, at blond hair and clear blue eyes that were all too familiar.
"…Francis." It was a grumble an annoyed, dissatisfied, one that meant 'get the fuck away from me now before I sock you in your pretty little face and do other bad things to you here –wait no, not the bad things you're probably thinking of you-French-pervert!' over-all.
"I am glad that you still remember my name." He smiled, but not out of nicety, more of faux politeness.
A default expression from the Frenchman.
"Did they send you to come find me or what?" He tried cutting to the chase.
But there was nothing to cut to, apparently.
"Non. 'They' did not. I am here to see you during my free time, are you not glad that there is still one person in the world who cares about you enough to—"
"Not if it's you." He scowled, folding his arms over his chest.
Francis chuckled, he didn't bother sitting down on the empty space right beside Lovino.
"Would you rather if someone else had asked me then?" The blond pried, perfectly sculpted eyebrow lifting in inquiry.
"What the hell? You just said 'they' didn't send you."
"Those whom you have expected might not, but the one you do not expect to might have." What Francis was saying wasn't at all cryptic to Lovino. The sheer familiarity and knowing made him turn away just so he could wince and pout where Francis' couldn't look at him properly.
"I will not ask about the person you had in mind."
The Italian's frown deepened because for awhile, his thoughts were in sync with the wine bastard's.
"In any case." Francis pressed on, probably not caring much for the way Lovino looked like he wanted to pass out again. "I only came to see if you were alive, Lovino. I am sincerely glad that you are."
Glaring once he had recovered, Lovino made a disapproving clicking sound with his tongue.
"What are you, a fucking hallmark greeting card?"
The Frenchman let out a nonchalant chuckle, a glint in his eyes that Lovino had always hated.
"I am simply expressing my true feelings over the matter. You took off without a word, naturally, there are people who are worried about you. And on that note, a hallmark card is much more poetic. I would have tried but—"
At this, he stood up, trying to level with Francis but found that he was still a good few inches short of direct eye-contact.
"Naturally?" His eyes narrowed at him in a look of contempt.
"Yes, there is your brother—"
"That's a given." He answered curtly, waiting to see if Francis could actually come up with a substantial list.
"Myself."
Lovino snorted.
"There is Ant—"
"…so he's alive?"
Francis paused at this for awhile.
Lovino felt his blood boil along with the loud thumping in his chest, coils of air forming before his mouth showing the preliminary signs of shallow breathing.
"Cut the crap, Frenchie. You just alluded to him two minutes ago and you were going to say his name. He has to be."
The blond was still quiet and pensive after this, they both waited for a good few seconds to pass. Francis was the first to speak once more, leaning in to whisper near the Italian's ear with a slight tilt to the corner of his lips.
"Answer me this first."
"Enough of your stupid questions. Tell me where that asshole is." Lovino pushed him back roughly, but he didn't budge much except for a step back before Francis regained composure and smirked smugly.
The taller man only shook his head, stepping back and ignoring the previous statements.
"Tell me, what was your purpose for coming here? Was it to find him?"
It could be, that Francis was the only one sure of anything right now and he could well have all answers, as it seemed. Though, despite Lovino's incessant demands, he had a slight idea as to the answer to Francis' question, but he was determined to keep it rooted to the back of his mind and far away from his vocal chords. To the second, it was no and his purpose had not once been 'to find', especially initially.
"Well?"
"Tch. He left for a reason. I wouldn't know."
"I wasn't asking for –actually, Lovino. Let's drop it for now. It is not important. Your records are enough evidence and you were having a bad day. It is understandable."
I am having a bad day.
The Italian was about to protest but Francis had waved him off and started to walk away.
"I will see you soon, peu d'italien!"
And before he could call him back, to ask, to get answers – "I am not a little Italian, you stupid wine-drinking know-it-all bastard!"
He grumbled, kicking the puddle as if it could reach the Frenchman's retreating back, or the designer boots clacking loudly against the cement.
There were obviously things Francis knew, obese file folders of confidential information he'd seen once or twice before told him so, but Lovino knew he wasn't and didn't have the kind of answers Lovino had wanted. He still was head of their Intel Department though and Lovino had enough training to know that this whole ordeal was more than just a personal check-up. It could well be his natural skepticism toward things but this was Chief Bonnefoy of the Intel Department. Not that that mattered much now.
Fired.
Not a Leave of Absence.
He was Fired.
Discharged.
Sacked.
And rules there were made for that, especially for agents of his kind and standing. He was just privileged enough to have his grandfather running the whole show, which was why he didn't need to go into detailed profiling for a 'starting anew' like the others before him had.
Although he did wonder why there was no further discussion after the actual announcement. Especially because of why he was fired in the first place.
'Unauthorized investigation, unauthorized use of company vehicles, consenting to the enemy's demands'
The list was long and he could check off more things his grandfather had told him, but those were the three that stood out. Right up to now, he still doubted whether or not this was all worth the well-being of his brother, Feliciano. He'd lost but hadn't gained.
Yet. He thought, determined but things still seemed bleak and it didn't help that Francis had found him so fast, which probably meant WPO was still keeping an eye on him. Shaking everything off things from before would be harder than he thought --not that he'd thought much when he'd gotten on that plane and gotten himself drunk.
Lovino sighed, head hanging and his hands balling into tight fists inside the pockets of his trench coat, this was going to be a long—
—he didn't even know how long it would take until he got things sorted out.
Although he was pretty that the whole process was going to be a pain and he probably wouldn't come out unscathed.
When Lovino arrived at room 3019, it was around four-thirty in the afternoon already. He took a good long pause at the door before sliding the keycard he'd managed to berate Gilbert into giving him earlier. He lifted the handle when it came loose and pushed passed, the mahogany shutting behind him with a soft click.
He eyed the German for awhile, who was shuffling about in the room, too busy to notice him enter, which of course, had pissed him off somewhat.
"Oi, I'm back." He announced, stuffing the keycard in his pocket as he took off his shoes to indulge his feet to the carpeted floor.
"Huh? Oh. Hey there." Gilbert turned over pillows, chairs and a messenger bag that Lovino hadn't seen awhile ago on the table beside the reading chair.
"What the hell is all this pacing around for, you're giving me a headache." Lovino sat down on the bed, pulling his legs up to sit Indian-style on the mattress, pulling a pillow from the side to him.
The older man stopped to shoot him a dirty look, indicating that whatever he was looking for was serious business. Lovino absentmindedly toyed with the idea that perhaps it had something to do with the German's employers or something but pushed the thought back when Gilbert sighed and rolled his eyes in exasperation, making his way to the bed. He plopped down on the mattress, lying down with his feet dangling off the edge and his arms spread out wide like he was waiting for a hug.
"What's eating you?" The Italian poked at his side just when Gilbert covered an arm over his eyes to shield them from the light streaming in through the large glass windows off to the side.
"What bit you in the ass got you concerned? It's nothing." His tone was even snappier than Lovino's, which scared the young man a little, considering that Gilbert was a criminal, expert at his trade and Lovino was now an unarmed jobless civilian with a worthless standing in society.
He didn't have a chance to say anything to that though, as Gilbert lifted himself up and crawled over near the head of the bed to stretch for the sidetable drawer, pulling it open. The contents all rolled over to the opened side and from the corner of his eye, Lovino could see a bunch of pens and a bunch of other useless things. He was about to turn away when Gilbert pulled out a bottle, inspecting the label that Lovino had already read.
'Good Clean Love
Lavender Rose Scented'
"What the hell is that?!" He exclaimed, before he could hold anything back or think rationally.
Gilbert peered at him curiously and then grinned a little at the red-faced Italian.
He chuckled as he threw it back inside the drawer and pulled out a box of what looked like a deck of cards.
"For later." He waggled his eyes suggestively. Lovino huffed and glared, hands curling around the pillow in an attempt to not strangle the German to death.
"I'm kidding, you're probably a virgin anyway."
Lovino, ever prone to thoughtless outbursts, sent the pillow to attack Gilbert's face with all it's threatening fluffiness.
"What's wrong with virgins?"
At this, Gilbert laughed.
Threw his head back, clutching his stomach, eyes closed that he seemed close to tears by now.
"What's so funny?" Lovino frowned.
Eventually, the platinum blond had managed to recover, sitting up straight to close the drawer and face him. He lifted the box's flap, sliding the cards easily into his free hand.
"Nothing, nothing." He shook his head and scooted closer, motioning the Italian to do the same.
"How was your walk?" He asked, trying to strike conversation.
Lovino momentarily flashbacked to his encounter with the Chief of Intel, a bunch of what ifs and buts making way into his thoughts, endless possibilities and the prospect of regaining a bit of the past he wasn't sure he wanted to leave behind like he was trying to do to everything else.
"I'm not sure if it was good or bad, given that you're still here. Though I'm willin' to bet on bad because apparently, I'm better than the streets out there."
Lovino felt a little disappointed that he didn't have a pillow to attack with this time, because he had no answer to that, which left him both frustrated and disappointed.
"Why'd you come back anyway?"
Francis' voice echoed in his mind, "What was your purpose for coming here?"
He shook it off and moved closer to the cards that Gilbert was gesturing him to cut. He still hadn't spoken, but made sure to look annoyed at being asked and like Francis, Gilbert let the matter go…although by using himself.
"Miss me that much, huh?"
Lovino contemplated throwing the cards at him, but decided not to in the end. He opened his mouth to say something, protest and bark semi-truthful reason but the sound of the polyphonic version of 'The Ultimate Showdown of Ultimate Destiny' cut through the silence and Gilbert immediately scrambled off the bed to the source of the noise, finding it in the bathroom. Too preoccupied, he'd left the door open but Lovino could only hear bits and pieces of the conversation.
"Hello?" Gilbert answered,breathless from the excitement of finding his phone coupled with the short adrenaline rush of panic, fall and flail.
"Yeah, he—I'm here."
"Yeah, yeah. Tomorrow?! I need more time. It could take days."
"Well, tell them to shove it up their asses. Then again it might not fit since there's already a stick there that somebody really needs to fuckin' pull out."
"I know I'm crude, boo you."
"Fine, fine. I'll call when I'm ready."
"Hell—who is this now—oh."
"Hey."
Lovino guessed that somebody else was on now, judging by the sudden change of tone and the softness to Gilbert's voice that Lovino remembered hearing right before he'd fallen asleep.
"Great. Awesome. Really."
"Don't! Whatever you do. Nobody's talked about anything. Everything's cool. I said I'll call back when I'm ready, okay?"
"Right. Okay. Bye."
Gilbert disconnected the call and stuffed the phone in his pocket, making his way back to the bed.
"Who was it?" Lovino asked, curious, but trying to sound detached. The words he'd picked up had piqued his interest though and a part of him he couldn't let go of wanted to 'investigate further' but that would be interfering in matters he shouldn't have. It was the WPO's job, he was just an innocent civilian caught in between.
"Work." Gilbert muttered as he took hold of the cards to reshuffle.
The Italian scoffed. What Gilbert did was work? Hah.
Then again, he didn't have much say in this now anyway. Gilbert was lucky he still had a job to keep and—
"Ever played poker?" The question effectively stopped his train of thought and upon hearing those words, he was starting to not care so much about being baited in so fast.
"Yeah, I have. Few times before." Won. He tried not to sound smug.
Gilbert smirked, almost mirroring his.
"Alright then. How 'bout a little bet. To make things more interesting."
"A bet?" Lovino raised his eyebrows. Things were starting to look up for him and maybe he could even score some money back before he dropped him like a hot potato.
Hot potato. Pfft.
He snickered inwardly at the private joke and as he nodded in agreement.
"Let's get a few things straight first, little Italian brat."
He ignored that because he was actually feeling good about the idea of winning and beating this bastard via gambling skills that were unknown to the rest of the world.
"You are being held captive right now, by me, the awesome Gilbert Beillschmidt-- and though I feel lucky that I have such a willing hostage."
Lovino's eyes widened, while Gilbert leaned over, lips brushing his ear as he picked the keycard from the ex-agent's pocket.
Hot breath ghosted over the side of his face and he could feel his cheeks heat up, but he wasn't sure if it was embarrassment from the sudden announcement of his 'status' or because Gilbert was too close.
"Play for your freedom?" The German asked, pulling away to watch him with amused eyes.
Lovino snapped out and glared.
"That and all the money in your pocket." He challenged, eyes flashing darkly.
"Fine. With your freedom comes control over you. I get to do anything to you when I win, got that?"
Lovino muttered a "Tch," and a few other curses under his breath before further consenting, paying no attention to the 'when' because he knew it wouldn't end like that. Gilbert chuckled lightly before letting him cut the deck again.
"Now deal." The Italian demanded, too wrapped up in 'what does 'do anything to you mean?', as well as the game and his soon-to-be-winnings to realize that the door could be opened from the inside.
Note/s: Right so. I tried to think things through for the whole thing, since in the original fiction version I lasted about two chapters XD –in the end, I came up with a really complicated web of relations and right now, I'm just going WTF is this (at the diagram on word) but everything's still tentative. And like, right now Prussia's role seems totally irrelevant but he will be~ like…if I get the nerve to keep writing =3=
I'm sorry I update so slow (A MONTH, I KNOW), but it's just in my nature to do so. ; I'll try harder though, I swear. =w=
Oh GCL is a lubricant~ it's in this chapter because I found it tucked under the pillow in my uncle's room ...it's not bottled though, but let's pretend it is, yeah? XD
What else...oh! The Ultimate Showdown of Ultimate Destiny is an awesome song! Almost as awesome as Prussia but not quite. Check it out if you haven't heard it. Hooray for old-school polyphonic phones!
...your thoughts now please, yes? Okay? Yay. Thanks. :D