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 15]

"Are you sure you haven't found anything?"

"I'm telling you, there's nothing on here. Unless you're interested in porn. I went through it, and let me tell you-"

"I don't want to know about Mathias' taste in porn!"

"I didn't either! But you made me go through everything in case there were, and I quote, 'encrypted files'. Do you have any idea the kinds of things I've seen? The kinds of things that make you want to scrub your eyes with sandpaper."

Arthur winced, and if that mental image was enough to make him flinch then Alfred didn't know how he would handle some of the stuff on the laptop. One thing was for sure, a sandpaper scrub wouldn't be enough to get those pictures out.

"And I said I was sorry. But are you really telling me that there is nothing important on there?"

There was an edge of desperation in Arthur's voice that reminded Alfred that Arthur had had a lot riding on this stolen laptop. He calmed down and replied in a much softer voice.

"I'm sorry. But either Mathias kept the important stuff somewhere else, or he never had anything to begin with."

Alfred had checked to see if the laptop had connected with any sort of flash drive or external hard drive and found no evidence that had happened. There was also no suspect internet activity, well, besides the pornography, and no reason to think Mathias had been receiving his instructions that way. There were no files of note and there was no evidence of large sums of data having been deleted. There were no special files lurking about and if anything did exist it was encoded beyond Alfred's ability to find.

"Damnit." Arthur swore and flopped back in his chair. He rubbed at his face, no doubt fighting a combination of exhaustion and disappointment.

They were in yet another cheap eatery, from which they were stealing electricity and Wi-Fi for the laptop. It was the sixteenth place they'd holed up in that day, as Alfred had insisted on bouncing from one place to another to buy them time if someone came looking for them while he searched Mathias' files. The car was parked within easy reach for much the same reason. Sadly, it seemed as though all that effort had produced exactly zero results.

"I'm sorry." Alfred apologized again, resisting the urge to reach out and touch Arthur "Is there anything else I can do?"

"No. It's not your fault. Just dispose of the laptop, make sure they can't use it to track us. I'll be back."

"Should I worry?" Alfred asked, and received a reassuring smile.

"No. But thank you for the concern. I just need to make a phone call." Arthur stood and stretched. Alfred continued with his questioning.

"There was a payphone in that library we stopped in a few blocks back. Want me to give you a lift?"

"No. I'll go myself. We'll meet up in the hotel in half an hour. But if you hear shots fired, it's probably me. In that case, follow the backup plan and try not to get yourself killed."

On that note, Arthur left. Alfred watched him through the glass storefront until he'd passed out of sight and then settled back into his seat and tried to think about what his next step would be. He drew a blank.

Alfred frowned at his bangs as they scratched against his forehead under the influence of a box fan that seemed to exist for the sole purpose of blowing the smell of cigarette smoke at the customers. It wasn't like they needed to be cooled off. They were in the Dakotas now, and, while it wasn't winter, it was still chilly enough that Arthur had borrowed Alfred's sweatshirt. Arthur had complained about the holes in the sleeves, and admitted to longing for his favorite sweater.

If Alfred had thought Arthur looked cute in his too large sweatshirt, it was nothing when compared to Arthur's blushing when he'd admitted that he'd knitted his favorite sweater himself.

Alfred shook his head to clear his thoughts, which only further disturbed his bangs. He blew at them to keep them out of his face, and, when that proved futile, he was forced to admit he needed a haircut. He didn't know how long it'd been since he'd had one, and when he tried to remember he realized that he didn't know what day it was. Didn't even know what day of the week it was.

It was odd. He'd spent the last several years counting down the hours until work ended, or the days to the next episode of some show or another, or the months to the release of the next game he was interested in.

Then Arthur had hijacked his car and all the little things he'd measured time by had stopped meaning anything.

Alfred glanced down at the bottom left of the computer screen. If the date was right – and based on what he had learned about Mathias from the man's files he was hesitant to trust the year much less the month or day – then he had been on the road with Arthur for a couple of weeks now.

Weeks.

Alfred shut the laptop with a snap. He didn't care about the games he wasn't playing. He didn't care about the shows he was missing. He didn't care about the people online he chatted with or the sites that had doubtlessly updated in his absence.

For the first time in his life, Alfred felt like he was doing something that really mattered.

Not that his life before had been pointless, but-

Alfred looked out the window, looked out at the scattered pedestrians making their way up the street. Some walked with clear intent in their strides while others strolled almost aimlessly in one direction or another. Where were they going? What were they thinking? Did they have any idea that the man watching them from the sandwich shop was helping a wanted criminal escape government persecution and that both of them in turn were on the run from a terrorist sect bent on nefarious goals that were still a mystery? Or did they just see him as an unknowable blank, like a voiceless NPC, filling in the background just as Alfred saw them as he stared out the window of the sandwich shop?

If he had never met Arthur, what would he be doing right now? Alfred thought back to his life before. Thought about what he'd go back to if he just walked out right now. He'd be an extra. In frame, but not really a part of anything.

The image, Alfred decided as he stuffed away his things and left, was decidedly depressing. But he also wasn't sure being the big action hero was any better. It was exciting, and he felt alive in a way he hadn't felt before, but it had been so much safer, so much more secure in his little goldfish bowl of TV shows and work and rent-

Alfred nearly tripped on his way out the door. Rent. There was an even more depressing thought…

When Arthur got back, Alfred was busily eating out of a carton of strawberry ice-cream that had two mates going slightly runny inside a shopping bag on the floor. The empty shell of yet another container was already forgotten in the trash can. The bed on which he was sitting was covered with Mathias' laptop, which was halfway disassembled, as well as things from Alfred's dufflebag of computer parts. The TV was blaring some sort of foreign B movie which had been rendered almost completely unintelligible by poor signal quality.

"Hey!" Alfred greeted happily, spoon dangling from his mouth and hands busy fiddling with odds and ends, "Welcome back!"

Arthur took the disarray of their room in stride, not even questioning the mangled Italian coming from the TV. He slid the deadbolt shut with an authoritative snap and asked Alfred what he thought was the most pressing question.

"What are you eating?"

"Tada!" Alfred sang and held out his purchase. "Strawberry ice cream!"

"Any particular reason why?"

"Yes!" Alfred said, taking his spoon out of his mouth and whipping it around for emphasis. "A depressing event has occurring, and on such occasions we must eat strawberry ice cream, for it is the most depressing of all the flavors!"

Arthur took a moment to process this, and then sat down on the bed by Alfred.

"I'm not entirely sure I want to know, but please explain this to me."

"Ok. So," Alfred began "Strawberry is the flavor no one likes. I mean, seriously, have you ever known someone to prefer strawberry over some other flavor?"

Arthur shook his head, though it was clear he was unsure as to where Alfred was going with this.

"And that's just sad, because strawberry is supposed to be one of the top three flavors, right up there with chocolate and vanilla. But whenever someone gets a tub of ice-cream with the three flavors, strawberry is always the only flavor remaining when the carton gets tossed because of freezer burn. It is a flavor full of disappointment, and that's why I must now eat it."

"You're eating strawberry ice cream because you're depressed?" Arthur concluded, face scrunched up in his usual frown.

"Yup." Alfred popped the 'p' for emphasis and swallowed another spoonful of ice-cream.

"Why?"

"I didn't know what the date was, so I double checked. Turns out, I've passed the point of no return when it comes to paying my rent. As of today, I am officially homeless!"

Arthur's expression switched from confused to concerned and settled on something like self-loathing. Alfred was quick to intervene.

"Dude, don't worry about it. I'd thought I was going to be evicted for months now. I was hoping the interview would go well, but most of my stuff was at my parent's anyway. Better safe than sorry, and all that jazz. Anyway, Mom's been hoping I'd move back in for a while now. She got addicted to Lifetime or something after they got cable and now she's worried I'll get murdered by burglars or start whoring myself out to pay the rent."

"Oh." said Arthur, clearly lost for words. "What about your father?"

"Dad? Oh, he's never trusted computers. As far as he's concerned, they run on dark magic and Skynet is totally going to happen one day. He's hoping that this will clear my head and I'll get a respectable position in, I don't know, accounting or something."

"Don't accountants use computers?"

"These days? Probably. I don't think dad realizes they use anything more advanced than calculators."

Alfred lick the utensil clean and then scooped out another spoonful of artificially pink sweetness. Instead of eating more, he offered it to Arthur. "Want some?"

Arthur delicately arched an oversized eyebrow. "What makes you think I want ice cream?"

"Well, no offense or anything, but your life's kind of a crapsack right now. If anyone should be eating strawberry ice cream around here, it should be you."

Arthur looked at the spoon, looked at Alfred, and then back to the spoon. Alfred watched his green gaze flicker back and forth, unsure as to why Arthur had turned a shade of pink only slightly lighter than the frozen treat.

His ears were so red they looked sunburnt he noted idly.

"Come on dude. Just take the spoon. You know you want to." he sang, waving the spoon in Arthur's direction.

Arthur smacked it away, resulting in a globule of pink being catapulted across the room to land on a piece of furniture with a soft splat. The event went completely unnoticed by its two inhabitants. "I'm not using your spoon! For all I know, stupidity is contagious!"

"Aw. Is Artie afraid of a spoon? A little spoony spoon?" the spoon came back to waggle dangerously close to Arthur's face. "Spoony spoony spoony- Hey! Give it back!"

Arthur held the utensil out of Alfred's reach, smirking triumphantly. "If you're going to shove it in my face like that, you clearly can't be trusted with it."

"But now how am I going to eat my ice cream?" Alfred whined.

"Use your hands. Isn't that what Neanderthals- Oy!"

Alfred tackled him. Using his greater weight to keep Arthur pinned down, he began to ruthlessly probe the Brit's sides for weaknesses. After a moment, Arthur made a few strangled noises and the tickling began in earnest.

"Surrender!" he demanded, arching to keep Arthur's flailing knees away from his ribs, fingers wriggling against sensitive ribs all the while.

"Never." Arthur replied, somewhat breathlessly. Alfred's pulse picked up at the sight of a flushed and smiling Arthur spread out beneath him. There was a sort of unbridled joy hiding in the green depths of Arthur's eyes that had Alfred leaning in to see if maybe he couldn't make those orbs really shine.

And then, using some odd twisting motion that had Alfred convinced the man was half snake, Arthur had thrown him onto the floor.

Right, secret agent. Needed to remember that.

Alfred lay on the floor listening to the forgotten television before the bed creaked and Arthur's face peered down at him, mussed hair forming a glorious blonde halo.

"I believe victory is mine." he deadpanned. His eyes were still brilliant.

"Indeed." Alfred deadpanned back, shoving improper impulses back to wherever they had come from with no small amount of dismay at his own actions. He held up his arms. "Can I have my ice cream back, at least?"

Arthur vanished for a moment and then handed down Alfred his treat. Alfred immediately shoveled another spoonful of soupy pink goodness into his mouth, not quite ready to trust himself again when Arthur still looked so carefree.

"Just so you know, the offer of ice cream still stands." He said before he could say or do anything as stupid as what he had almost just attempted.

"Very generous of you" Arthur noted, still leaning over and looking down at Alfred, "but I'm afraid I'm going to have to pass."

"You're loss." Alfred twisted around, pulling himself up into a seated position and, more importantly, off his shoes, which he'd carelessly tossed on the floor not long after returning to the room. "How'd it go?"

"Something might've turned up, but it's too early to tell." Arthur sighed. "My contact is going to call me from the same number I called him from."

"So you're gonna go stalk a payphone for a bit?"

"Essentially, yes. Will you be able to keep yourself out of trouble?"

Alfred spread his arms, gesturing to the ice cream and the bad TV and the computer parts strewn everywhere. "Way ahead of you!"

Then, more seriously. "Are you gonna be ok?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I haven't managed to get myself killed yet, thank you."

"No. I know you're a badass agent and all. It's just that- I worry. About you."

The admission hung between them. Alfred lowered his eyes to his ice cream, the newfound feelings for his companion, still riled up from the impromptu tickling, settled uncomfortably with the ice cream in his stomach. Arthur watched him, expression unreadable.

"Look, I-" Alfred's gaze came up just in time to see Arthur's hand dart down and steal his spoon. The black plastic vanished between upturned lips and then reappeared, this time sans ice-cream.

"Wha- Hey!" Alfred sputtered, not sure how to react.

Arthur smirked, looking smug but oddly flush. "You said your offer still stands."

"Well, yeah. But I thought you would ask first." Alfred said indignantly.

Arthur rolled his eyes and handed back the spoon. "Get up here." He patted the bedding invitingly.

Alfred eyed his offer suspiciously, spoon held up in a feeble form of defense. "You're not going to toss me off are you?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "If I'm going to stay here, I'm going to need someone to explain what's happening in this dratted movie."

Arthur had a brief glimpse of a megawatt smile before Alfred had launched himself up on the bed with enough force to make the Brit bounce.

"Ok. So, as far as I can figure, these guys are astronauts and they're exploring some alien planet or another. The black haired guy's the hero, the dude with glasses is his friend who's probably going to be dead before the movie's over, I think the old guy has superpowers, and they guy with the funny accent is evil and is plotting to help sentient eggplants kill off the rest of the crew and invade Earth. Also, there's this slug-lady princess who's important for unspecified reasons, somehow connected to the old guy, and currently imprisoned by the eggplants. I think she's the love interest because the hero's girl back home might be cheating on him with his commanding officer who I think is his uncle."

"You speak Italian?"

"Not a word."

"Then how-"

"Just watch. The language of bad B movies, much like soap operas, is universal."

It was dark now, Arthur had slunk off some time ago and Alfred had turned off the TV and the lights and tried to go to sleep. Cars drove by with dull roars, sending streamers of light through the windows. Far off sirens blared. People outside yelled and laughed. The rhythmic thud of footsteps wound through the hotel. Through all of it, Alfred had stared blankly at the wall as he had since Arthur slipped out the door.

Sleep wasn't happening.

He kicked off the blankets in frustration and clicked the lights back on. So he couldn't sleep. Fine. He'd just fine something to do until he got tired enough and then he'd turn in. He wandered over to his things and began searching through them. A paperback novel, long forgotten at the bottom of a backpack with its spine nearly bend in half due to neglect, was opened up and leafed through before being thrown away. Instead, Alfred hauled his big duffle of computer parts up onto the bed and settled cross-legged on top of the covers.

Alfred dug through the mess of parts he'd been working with earlier and fished out Hitler's little black box out of the bottom of the bag.

"Ok." he said, reaching for his tools "Let's see what you are."

[End Chapter]

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