Disclaimer: Hidekaz Himaruya owns Hetalia and its characters.
Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited: alexf801, chattie98, Myrna Maeve (and Romania!), Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx, Vengeful Cat and all my anonymous readers.
Warnings: Shakespeare!England, France, PruDen
Chapter 10 - Missing
Tuesday pm
Somewhere in the air above the English Channel
Flight BA007 Heathrow to Vienna
"Drinks, Sirs? Madam?" the air hostess asked the four Nations.
"Tempt not a desperate man," England answered.
"I think he means no," Belarus answered indicating England, "And none for me either or him" she added pointing at France, who was leering at the young air hostess.
"Honhonhon, bonjour, I will have a bottle of your finest Dom Perignon, s'il vous plait," Francis asked the stewardess.
"And I'll also have some of that Don Perry Neon stuff as well, see view plate" America added, with an attempt at French at the end of his sentence. After all, he had to prove to Belgium that he'd acquired more sophisticated tastes. France visibly winced at America's mangling of the French language.
"Non, he will not. It will be wasted on him, he will have some of your 'orrible American beer," France said, wisely.
The four Nations had managed to get the next flight to Vienna and, having negotiated security with a babbling England who'd spend the whole taxi ride reciting poetry and 'gibberish' at them, telling the nonplussed airport security that he was 'Will', and "What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet."
"He should have subtitles," America had declared.
They were now on their way to Austria's house and an emergency conference. America was very excited, it was his chance to save the world and be the hero, however, not without some trepidation as he usually had England's wise and steady advice to keep him in check and although he was often irritated by it, he'd come to rely on it more than he cared to admit.
Belarus was annoyed. She'd tried telling England that she thought she might be pregnant, however, it had fallen on deaf ears, whoever he claimed to be, it was not the Arthur Kirkland she knew and loved. She'd quite enjoyed the love sonnets he kept reciting, but now they irritated her as sometimes she wasn't sure exactly what he meant.
France kept his head down as much as he could, for once. It was his fault Arthur had regressed backwards through time, it was his fault that the Nations' secret was at stake (although America and Belarus didn't realise this) and, for the moment, he was quite pleased that England was not ... England. He was convinced that if the real Arthur Kirkland was aware of the painting's existence and the fact that the proverbial shit was about to hit the proverbial fan – all due to him – he would have had his arse kicked.
England was actually quite happy sat next to Belarus, after they'd managed to persuade him onto the plane, that is. "A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!" he'd shouted at first, until they'd persuaded him that there was no way they could go all the way to Vienna on horseback and get there on time. Then he'd shouted to everyone's consternation, "A man can die but once!" as the plane lifted from the ground. This had caused some panic amongst the rest of the plane's passengers, however, Belarus had shut him up with a kiss at which Arthur/William had declared, "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?"
"Oh Arthur!" Belarus had swooned.
"Thou art more lovely and more temperate;" Arthur continued.
"Say what?" America said.
France sighed, "Ah, mon l'Angleterre, so romantique!"
"Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May," Arthur continued ignoring America throwing peanuts at him.
"Hahahaha! Arty's talking about wind!"
"And summer's lease hath all too short a date." Arthur finished, gazing romantically into Belarus' eyes.
"Are you saying I am too short?" Belarus suddenly said, her eyes blazing.
"He is saying that your time together is all too short," France said, "It is so romantic!"
"No, it's not!" Belarus said, angrily, glaring at France. Unfortunately he was out of reach, but not out of range of a knife.
"Men of few words are the best men," Arthur said, sadly.
"Damn right, dude. I would keep your mouth shut if I were you. I mean, dude, you're getting yourself into trouble with all this verily and forsooth stuff." America shouted – as usual his volume control set to 10.
Helsinki, Finland
Any passer-by wandering down Kvambacksvagen would have been much alarmed to see two blond-haired men crammed in a telephone booth, one with red-eyes and an evil grin on his face dialling a number, the taller one with a traffic cone on his head.
"Kesese, I'm gonna make me some dosh!"
"Ja!"
"Dude Den, can't you take that cone off your head while you're in here?" Prussia asked.
"Ja!" 'Dude Den' answered, but didn't.
Prussia sighed and then jumped startled, when the phone at the other end of the line was answered by a weary voice, "Privet? Braginski household."
Prussia grinned, it was Lithuania, he guessed and then, to disguise his voice, muffled his mouth with his hand and put on his best sinister, Polish accent, "Ve have your little sunflower."
"No, we don't and why have you got your hand over your gob?" Denmark asked, swigging his beer.
Prussia answered him by punching him in the stomach, causing the Dane to spill his beer.
"Aw man!" the Dane yelled.
"What?" Lithuania asked, "Is that you, Gilbert?"
"Nein, I mean, nie."
"This isn't funny, Gilbert. This is not a good time to prank call us!" Lithuania shouted.
Prussia frowned, he'd never heard Lithuania actually shout before, he was usually calm and easy-going and often just sighed whenever Gilbert prank-called them.
"Zis is not Gilbert, and zis is not a prankcall," Gilbert said insistently, weirdly swapping his accent to a French one.
"Ja, it is!"
"Shut up, Den and get the hell out of here!" Gilbert hissed at his companion.
"Are you missing somebody?" Gilbert asked.
"What? What do you know about it?" Lithuania asked, suspicion evident in his voice.
"Give me money and I will tell you where you can pick up the little sunflower," Gilbert said.
"You're a dead man, Gilbert. Russia is going to kick your arse and hand it back to you in a party bag if you've kidnapped Latvia," Lithuania answered, however, now his voice went very quiet. "You'd better bring her back right now," he all but hissed into the receiver.
"I am not zis Gilbert person. I want... fifty thousand dollars or you vill not see the leetle sunflower again!" Gilbert said, opening the door and shoving the tall Dane out of it.
Toris swore in a series of Lithuanian and Russian, Gilbert held the receiver away from his ear.
"The boss is going to kill you, Gilbert!"
"I vill ring later with ze details and then you vill see your leetle sunflower again ven I get my money," Gilbert added and slammed the receiver down. "Kesese! I'm going to be rich!" he yelled and then found he was stuck in the telephone booth.
Denmark stood like a goon outside the phone box, pressing his face against the glass in the door and leering in at the Prussian. It took Gilbert several bangs on said door before the big Dane moved freeing the smaller ex-Nation.
Just down the road, inside Prussia's awesome van sat Latvia and Sealand, eating hotdogs, both unaware of Prussia's nefarious doings. After Sweden had quite literally thrown them out of the house, they'd shoved Sealand in the back of the van, left Boris with Sweden (who didn't seem to care as long as Denmark - or 'him' as the tall Swede referred to him - was out of the house) and swerved off down the road.
Gilbert had parked on a dual carriageway right next to a 'No Parking' sign and promptly went off down the road saying he had 'business to attend to'. Latvia and Sealand assumed this meant he needed a pee. Denmark, after acquiring a traffic cone had, like a 'brainless moron' (Sealand's words) wandered after him. They were actually on route to Peter's school, but Peter was in no hurry to get there.
Leningrad Airport, Russia – Avis car hire
A jubilant Romano was handing in his car keys to the Avis representative.
"You won't be staying in this country any longer then, Mr Vargas?" the rep asked.
"No I will not, dammit! I'm outta here. My job is done," Romano said.
"You have done all the sightseeing of our wonderful history and landmarks?" the young woman asked.
Romano looked her up and down, actually, she was about the only attractive Russian woman he'd ever met (apart from Belarus who he'd always quietly fancied, only she scared him so much he almost wet his pants), and she was now quite obviously batting her eyelashes at him. He had a pocketful of money, he didn't have to meet his brother for a few more days...
Romano, who could actually be quite a charmer when he wanted to be, and was a sucker for a pretty face, smiled at her, turned on the Italian charm which rivalled his younger brother's and said, "Soooo, are you from around here? Can you show me around this..." Romano hesitated and glanced at the grey skies which were full of snow, the icy pavements and the grim, hard looking people, "... beautiful city?"
"Da!" the girl said, "I'm free in half an hour. Meet me at the coffee shop around the corner," she said.
Russia's House, Leningrad
Romano was a bit ahead of himself. If the Italian assassin had stuck around he would have seen Russia emerge from the masonry, brush the dust off him and step out as if the breezeblocks, cement and masonry were made of cardboard.
"Oooh!" he said, somewhat surprised, with a confused look on his face, shaking dust from his hair.
"What on earth are you doing, Vanya?" Ukraine exclaimed, clambering over the rubble.
"I think perhaps I slammed the door a bit too hard," Russia said. He rubbed his head, wonderingly. A large chunk of the porch ceiling had hit him on the head, however, unlike most people who would have had major concussion at the very least or brain damage or perhaps death, Russia just had a minor headache.
"I thought I heard an explosion?" Estonia said.
"Yes, him! Slamming about..." Ukraine answered.
"Not cool, sweetie," Poland added.
That's when the telephone rang and Lithuania had the strange conversation with the person who could receive the Most Incompetent Kidnapper of the Year Award.
Somewhere above Europe
If awards were handed out, certainly England could have gotten the Award for the Most Slappable Face. Belarus was getting really fed up now of Ye Olde English that England was spouting.
"Is this a dagger I see before me?" he'd said when the air stewardess had put his in-flight meal in front of him.
"Just shut up and eat your ... whatever it is..." Belarus snapped, looking at the shapeless mess in front of her which the stewardess had told her was 'chicken'.
"The lady doth protest too much, methinks," England said.
"Protest? Protest? Argh!" Belarus screamed and slammed her food tray up and down repeatedly, until, thankfully, America put a tentative hand on her shoulder.
"Miss Belarus?" he said leaning over the aisle, ignoring the fact that he was blocking the air stewardesses who were trying to get past with their trolleys. "Swap places and I'll sort Arty out," he said.
Belarus got up, quite reluctantly and changed seats, she glared at France as she did so, "Touch me, Francy-pants and I will tie you to the hostess trolley and shove you out of the emergency exit door."
Francis wisely sat on his hands.
"Beware the ides of March!" Arthur told America, all the whilst eyeing Belarus who was waving the small plastic knife around which had come with her in-flight meal. It probably was not as deadly as her usual choice of weaponry, however, being in the hands of Belarus, who knew? France was certainly very nervous and could quite easily have won the Award for Person most Likely to Wet Pants.
"Eyes of March? What in the name of Obi-Wan Kenobi are you talking about, dude?" Alfred shook his head. Clearly, he thought, Arthur had lost the plot big time.
"You know," he said, turning to Belarus who was testing the edge of her plastic knife, "He only switched to this Brad person after I hit him..."
"Yes, you did..." Belarus narrowed her eyes at him and ran her finger along the edge of the plastic knife testing its sharpness – which wasn't much – it was about as sharp as Alfred's brain. She'd quite liked Captain Kirkland, but she wanted her Arthur back.
"So you are saying that a blow to ze head 'as made 'im go back in time?" Francis said eagerly?
"Nope, you did that with your stupid amnesia stuff. But a blow to the head might bring the real Arthur back to us," America said.
Belarus turned to France, "You're not getting out of this, France. If he's not himself soon, I am going to do something to your vital regions with this plastic knife," she hissed.
"Ah mon dieu!" Francis took his hands out from under his derriere and placed them protectively over 'little Francis' or 'Eiffel Tower'.
Belarus turned back to America, "Hit him and I kill you," she said simply.
America shook his head, "But it might be the only way to get him back. Think about it, Natalya," he said, daringly using her human name, "A blow to the head got us this," here he nodded at England who was gazing out of the window and humming Greensleeves dreamily, "Another blow and we could get Arty back."
Belarus considered this and also considered her options of the logistics of impaling America and France with British Airways plastic cutlery and escaping with a man who was clearly stuck in the sixteenth century without the cabin crew noticing.
"Or you could end up with Mr PoncyPants here as the father of your unborn child. Your choice, Bela," America said.
Belarus sighed, she would be the laughing stock of the Nations...
"I mean I don't know about you, but I'm sure the kid will grow up okay with a dad who says verily and ponces around the house waving a lacy handkerchief around?"
"Hey!" France exclaimed in protest.
"And I suppose it is possible to be a poet and not be gay?" America added, using his own logic.
Belarus frowned at this.
America's next words decided it, "Well I suppose love poems and all that could be used as a battle technique, I'm not sure myself... I suppose if you get invaded by someone equally poncy like Austria, you'll be okay. Austria would just play his piano at you and England could retaliate by spouting rubbish poems that don't even rhyme..."
"Just hit him... but gently," she said quietly and then shut her eyes tightly.
America nodded, "You know it makes sense," he said and punched Arthur in the head, "Sorry Arty dude," he said gravely, as Arthur slumped sideways in his seat.
Leningrad, Russia
Russia was sat at the kitchen table, rubbing his blond head, drinking vodka to fortify himself. Vodka can cure all ills, he thought, it had never failed him yet.
"Who was that on the telephone?" he asked Lithuania.
"Erm..." Lithuania hesitated. Should he tell Russia that Latvia had been kidnapped by Prussia – the mere mention of the ex-Nation's name was sometimes enough to send Russia into spasms of rage and kokolling – much in the same way as Austria (but without kolkolling and instead much passive-aggressive dramatic sighing in the case of the latter).
"It was a wrong number," he said eventually.
"It was not little Latvia?" Russia asked desperately.
"No, sir, but I'm sure she'll ring soon," Lithuania said, feeling actually quite sorry for his boss.
Russia sighed heavily and went back to his vodka, thinking furiously, 'Where was she? Where would I go if I was little Aija? Back to Riga?'
"I'm going to go to Riga," he said suddenly.
Ukraine shook her head, "You're going nowhere until I know you haven't got concussion," she said, "How many fingers am I holding up?"
Russia shook his head, "I have to go and find little Aija. She could be hurt, scared... suppose she's been kidnapped by bad people?" Russia stood up, buttoned up his coat and picked up Mr Pipe. No mere blow to the head was going to stop him from rescuing his love.
Estonia came in, he'd just spent five minutes on the telephone using his brain. "I know where she is," he said.
Russia grabbed him by the lapels, "Where? How?"
"She's on the way to Helsinki, I think. She erm...," here, Estonia hesitated, should he tell Russia about the credit card? Then he took the plunge, what harm could it do? And besides how else would he get Russia's credit card back? Eduard needed it for his business deals, "... she took your credit card, Sir," he said and stepped back, gauging the reaction.
Russia couldn't have cared less if she'd taken the Romanov crown jewels, "Helsinki! Right, let's go," he said.
"Wait a minute, you can't just take off like that!" Ukraine exclaimed.
"Da, I can."
"How do you know she's in Helsinki anyway?" she asked Estonia.
"I rang the credit company and asked them where it was last used. They said that it was last used in a petrol station just outside Helsinki," Estonia told her.
"Right, let's go, come on Esty," Russia said, "You are coming with me, then you can help me to trace her and I will bring her back and she can be safe and sound here with me forever and ever," Russia added in his little, slightly creepy, sing-song voice.
'Esty' shrugged at Ukraine, who told him, "Just keep an eye on him and just make sure he doesn't hurt too many people."
This request was probably asking far too much of Estonia, or of anyone really.
Lithuania took hold of Estonia and, whilst Russia (to Ukraine's alarm) was shoving various weapons and implements into his many pockets – knitting needles, machete, hacksaw, hammer, pickaxe and, weirdly, a spoon, he told Eduard in a hushed tone, one eye on his boss, "Prussia just rang. He's got Raivis and said he wants fifty thousand dollars or we won't see her again."
Estonia shook his head, "What a moron! Is he on a sponsored death wish?" Estonia said and broke off as Russia experimentally swished the machete around.
"I wouldn't say anything to the boss until we know for sure what's going on," Lithuania said wisely.
"Hmm, I think Latvia can look after herself," Estonia said.
"It will all end in tears," Poland said wisely. The Pole suddenly appeared in the doorway, having 'had a look around for clues'. He had a furtive look about him and was hurriedly cramming a sheaf of papers into his briefcase.
As it happened, Poland was to be proven correct, it was going to end in tears.
Author's Notes:
Tempt not a desperate man – Romeo & Juliet
What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet – Romeo and Juliet
A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse – Richard III
A man can die but once! – King Henry IV, Part II
Men of few words are the best men – King Henry V
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day... – Sonnet 18
Is this a dagger I see before me – Hamlet
The lady doth protest too much, methinks - Hamlet
Kvambacksvagen – a road in Helsinki (I picked it at random) but am not sure if it actually has any telephone booths on it
"This Brad person" – assuming America means The Bard (i.e. Shakespeare) but who knows?
Next Chapter: More dude Den, Prussia, a trip to the park, Poland's awesome car (definitely), more history.