Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.
Warnings: Slash, AU, swearing, sub-par writing, wonky plots, appallingly slow updates, and Hitler jokes.
I don't know what I'm doing.
Unbeta'd.
[Chapter 3]
Alfred was tired. In this moment, he wanted nothing more than to sleep. He was even willing to sleep on the bed, though the odds said he'd be eaten alive if he did so. It was the type of tired that caused one to meander about with all the energy of a dead sloth, drooling slightly, and looking just about as vague as is physically possible. Essentially, his exhaustion had rendered him a zombie who still retained his higher brain functions.
Which was actually fortunate, because the only other way Alfred would have gotten through his conversation with Arthur was with large quantities of alcohol or illegal substances.
"Woah, woah, woah. Wait. Hold on. Back up." Alfred shifted his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose "Go back to the part where you're a British secret agent again."
Arthur gave Alfred a look that was a few degrees short of loathing.
"We've been over this twice already."
They were both on the floor. The first explanation had taken place on the bed, but Alfred had begun complaining that something was eating his ass, so they'd switched. Neither was sure if the carpeting was a step up or a step down from the bedding.
Arthur was cross-legged, a pile of papers, photographs, and other 'evidence' piled in front of him. Alfred was stretched out on his back, position slightly contorted so as to avoid the carpet stains. Say whatever you want, he wasn't going to lie on the Abraham Lincoln stain.
It would be disrespectful.
And disgusting.
Alfred glared at him through now slightly lopsided glasses. "Then go over it a third time. I still don't know if you're crazy, I'm crazy, or the world's crazy."
The unspoken alternative was that everything actually made sense. Crazy was really the best option.
"Is this really necessary?"
"Yes. But give me the SparkNotes version this time. I can't remember all your precise facts and figures anyway. I'm also pretty sure your government doesn't want me knowing them. Top Secret, and all that."
The Brit sighed, recollected his materials, and began again.
"I am a member of Her Majesty's Secret Service."
It was sad that Arthur's whole explanation could fall apart on the first point. This whole explanation was dependent upon Arthur being who he said he was. Which was kind of hard to believe. Even if he did have a convenient backstory and that black flippy thing with the badge. Alfred just suspended his disbelief and let the maybe-crazy maybe-British man continue.
"I am in your country on a mission regarding the terrorist known as Tino Vainamoinen."
The photograph was placed down as evidence. Alfred nodded in recognition.
"The Swedish dude."
"Finnish." Arthur corrected. "He's Finnish."
"Ok, Finnish. You know next to nothing about his past, which is kinda lame. Just saying. He was born in Swe- Finland. He was born in Finland. Don't look at me like that. I'm totally paying attention. He's a mercenary. You don't know where he got his training, but he's good at what he does. You think that's sniping, but, just to reiterate, you know jack about his past. Mostly he does the whole 'soldier for hire' thing."
"Yes." Arthur furrowed his rather impressive eyebrows. "Or, at least, that's what he used to do. His recent actions have been troubling."
Arthur sorted through his stack of papers.
"Forgery." A piece of paper hit the floor.
"Firearms trafficking." Several pieces of paper were added to the pile.
"Abduction. Assault. Manslaughter. Offences against the Administration of Public Justice. Conspiracy. Robbery. Extortion. Theft."
More papers cascaded back down to the floor in time with Arthur's announcements. By the end there was a rather intimidating stack.
"That last one happens to be the reason I'm here. The stolen object in question is a piece of highly experimental government technology."
Alfred remembered this bit, and nodded along to the accusations.
"Right, someone stole your SATs."
Arthur gave a disappointed sigh and corrected him again.
"Not SATs, S.A.T.S. Satellite Assisted Targeting System. And that's the part they weren't able to steal. The actual piece of equipment taken was a supercomputer designed to break into the defensive networks of assorted countries. S.A.T.S. is a separate system, which enables enhanced satellite link-up and is encoded with the coordinates of key military positions throughout the Northern Hemisphere. And, judging from your blank expression, you have failed to understand the importance of this even when I use small words."
Alfred had the feeling insults to his intelligence were going to become commonplace.
"Shut up. I'm too tired to deal with this."
Alfred rubbed his face and looked at his wrist. His watch confirmed that it was, in fact, stupid o'clock in the morning. He readjusted himself on the floor, hoping it would keep him awake. Once again, he avoided the Lincoln stain and then shoved his feet into awkward positions to avoid a rabbit shaped smear.
"Just keep going. So then you used your spy skills to rescue the stupid satellite thing."
Arthur was impressed by neither his attention span nor his awkward squirming.
"Stop fidgeting. I'm not going to continue if you're going to act like an Attention Deficit kindergartener."
Alfred pointed down to the blotchy shape between his sock clad feet "I just don't want to put my feet in the rabbit stain, alright? Is that so much to ask?"
"Rabbit-" Arthur looked down at Alfred's hole filled footwear "It's a unicorn."
"What are you smoking? It's a rabbit. Look at it. It's so totally a rabbit. Where are you getting unicorn from?"
"Really? Are you really going to do this?"
"Yes, because I'm a - what did you call me? - an Attention Deficit kindergartener."
To complete the image, Alfred squirmed unnecessarily, folded his arms over his chest, and stuck his tongue out at Arthur.
Arthur threw a shoe at him. One of Alfred's shoes, actually. And now his head hurt because a mentally deranged pseudo-spy had thrown one of his own sneakers in his face.
Lovely.
"Ow! Fine! I'll stop. Can we please get back on topic?"
"Not if you don't pay attention!" Arthur snapped.
"I'm listening! Bad guys! Thieving! Spy skills! Explanation! Go!"
"Alright. As you were so keen to point out earlier, although Tino and his associates were successful in their acquisition of the supercomputer, they were unable to steal S.A.T.S. This was due, in no small part, to my own timely intervention. I was able to hide the device with the help of one of my contacts. Not even I know where S.A.T.S. is right now. Unfortunately, Tino doesn't believe me."
Arthur dropped three stapled packets down onto the carpeting.
"I followed him into your country in the hopes of recovering the supercomputer. This was an admittedly foolish decision. Believing that I have access to the hardware he was unsuccessful in obtaining, Tino has sent men to collect me so that I can be 'questioned'. Thankfully, I have been able to elude them thus far. When you picked me up, I had actually just escaped an entanglement with them. I was able to jam their tracking devices, so it should be some time before they pick up on my trail again. But, as you might have guessed by now, I am on my own here. Tino is slowly forcing me back into a corner."
"And you can't call for help due to 'complications'." Alfred added.
No matter how many times Alfred had asked, Arthur had refused to elaborate on what those complications might have been. It was kind of sketchy that a spy wouldn't have backup, but then again maybe all those action flicks really were onto something. Tom Cruise had been fine in 'Mission Impossible', maybe Arthur would be too.
"You're in some real trouble." There was no real reason to state the obvious, but Alfred felt somehow compelled to.
He began counting off the reasons on his fingers.
"You have no backup. You can only call your contacts sporadically because Tino might be tracing your calls. If you are injured in any way, that's the end of it. 'Game Over' man. You have next to no supplies. You're running low on ammo. You have no way of getting more of either. Essentially, you're up shit creek without a paddle."
He frowned at his unwanted companion.
"You don't even have a car because you lack the funds and the necessary licenses. You could just steal one, but that risks bringing the cops into this, which would just be a hassle you can't afford to deal with."
Alfred contemplated for a moment and then came to his own conclusion about Arthur's situation.
"Dude, sucks to be you."
Arthur at least had the decency to look remorseful.
"Yes. Well, actually, that's where you come in."
[End Chapter]
Exposition. Exposition. Exposition.
No idea if any of this technology actually exists.
Continue?