Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.
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Arthur didn't expect his journey from the florist to the 'H' Primary School would take more than an hour. And surely he didn't expect the traffic jam to be this long. By the time Arthur arrived at the apartment, it was almost two in the afternoon. And his legs were tired from being folded for almost three hours sitting inside a taxi, waiting for the traffic jam to clear out.
He sighed as he pushed the doorbell. Arthur had come this far; he would probably kill Francis if he wasn't in his apartment once he met him. Kiku couldn't take him to the school, so Arthur hurriedly called a taxi. After a long wait, he finally got out of the taxi, paid the driver, and walked six blocks to find a tall mansion-like building. At least he got to stretch his legs.
Opening the door was the landlady, a seemingly nice old woman.
"Oh, hello, there," she greeted. "Do you want to rent an apartment?"
Arthur smiled good-naturedly. "Ah, no," he declined. "I'm actually looking for someone. He rented a flat here. He's a friend of mine."
The woman smiled warmly. "Well, come in, son," she opened the door wider, letting Arthur stepped inside. "We can talk in my room," she added, closing the door.
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Arthur stared at the white cat on the old lady's lap. The cat was fluffy—angora, he noted—with blue eyes and a collar with a rose-shaped decoration on its side. It meowed when the lady petted its fur. He then turned to her. "Is it yours?" he asked.
"Oh, no. He actually belonged to someone else," she answered. "But something happened to the previous owner, so I decided to keep him," she added, referring to the cat, her grey eyes dimmed at the mention of the owner. Then she looked up at Arthur. "So, about your missing friend?"
The Brit blinked. "Oh, yes. His name is Francis Bonnefoy. He rented a flat here, yes? Is he here?"
At the mention of the name, the woman's grey eyes widened in shock. She did not move for a moment.
Arthur, feeling alarmed at the landlady's odd reaction, frowned in bewilderment. "Um, madam, is something wrong?" he asked slowly.
The white cat jumped from its perch on the woman's lap as she stood up from her sofa. She approached her dresser. There was a short pause. "He's not here," she murmured.
Arthur blinked. "P-pardon me?"
"Have you heard about the train accident a month ago?" she asked silently.
The train accident? Why did it have anything to do with Francis? Arthur frowned, still trying to process what was actually going on and why everyone reacted so peculiarly. "Uh, yes," he replied. "The train lost its balance and stumbled into the platform of the station, killing 102 victims in the process."
The old woman nodded slowly. "My dear Francis was one of them," she muttered.
It took Arthur seconds to actually process the words he had just heard. When he did, he widened his green eyes in shock and disbelief. "But—but I had just met him!" he argued, standing up from the chair he was sitting on. "The last time I saw him was yesterday, in the 'W' railway station, and he was perfectly healthy! There were no signs of depression, illness, or any scar at all! He didn't look like he was going to commit suicide or anything! Francis was there—alive—I saw him with my own eyes!" What was this? What the bloody hell was going on, actually? Arthur did not understand every bit of information he received. They were complete opposite of what he had been through.
The woman didn't move. She stayed there, leaning on her dresser for a moment. She then spoke, "Francis is not here, my son. He's gone."
"No! That's not possible!" Arthur exclaimed, still could not believe what he just heard. "Then who was he who I saw coming at four o'clock in the afternoon every day in the station? Who was he whom I talked with? Who was he whom I befriended with?" What was wrong with these people? What the bloody hell was going on?! If Francis was really dead, then who was that long blonde haired and blue eyed sodding git who Arthur always fought and argued with in the station?
"You must be joking," the landlady murmured, finally facing him. "The police had reported to me privately that Francis Bonnefoy is dead. He is dead along with the other 101 victims in the accident."
Arthur fell silent.
Police?
The Brit immediately ran out of the room, ignoring the shouts from the old landlady, and quickly reached for the front door. He got out of the building and ran along the sidewalk, back to the 'H' Primary School where the taxi put him down.
Bollocks. Every information Arthur received was utterly ridiculous. As he ran, he could not help but think that ever since Arthur saw Francis in the station, something was off. He recalled that the train passengers didn't even acknowledge Francis at all, just like what he said. They never gave him a single glance, and just walked past him without a word. Not even the janitors or the staff. No one—except Arthur. Arthur saw him walking and sitting on the front bench. Arthur saw him coming into the station at four o'clock every day to wait for his friends. Arthur even dared to approach him and talk to him. And Francis talked back! Francis spoke, shouted, yelled, laughed, snickered, grinned, smiled, cried, groaned, grunted—Francis basically responded every of Arthur's actions as humanly as possible. Ghosts would not.
Would they?
Arthur clicked his tongue. Francis owed him an explanation. But right now, he needed to get to the 'H' Police Department. He remembered Francis said that his cousin worked there along with his twin brother. Arthur could confirm if the landlady's information was true or false. He hoped deep down that it was false. Arthur wouldn't believe Francis was actually dead a month ago just yet. Why, the first time he saw Francis was a few weeks ago! But a faint voice in his head told him otherwise, that Francis was really dead, and whom he always met at four o'clock in the station was actually his lost spirit.
Lost spirit? Arthur frowned. If what he saw was Francis' spirit, then why did he only see him? Wasn't Arthur supposed to see a lot of other lost spirits in the station if he could see Francis? It was a huge train accident, after all, said to have killed 102 victims.
The thought of Francis being one of them made Arthur's stomach churn. And not in a good way.
He approached a vacant taxi once he was in front of the 'H' Primary School gates. Arthur opened the passenger door, got in, and closed it.
"Where to, sir?" the driver asked.
"HPD," Arthur demanded. "And you better be fast. Time's ticking."
"Right away, sir."
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'H' Police Department, 15:10 PM
An officer walked briskly through the swarm of people in the hall. He looked over the cubicles around him, trying to find a certain Russian officer whom he supposed must still be working on a current case file their chief gave him. When he did find the man he was looking for, he quickly ran to the cubicle where his partner was in.
"Hey, Ivan, dude," the officer called, knocking on the cubicle wall and leaning against it.
The silvery haired Russian officer looked up to his blonde haired partner. "Ah, Πpивет, comrade Alfred," he greeted, smiling sweetly. "Have you done with your case file yet?"
"Nah," Alfred said, waving his hand. "Was about to take a break and have a coffee when I remembered you're still working on your case file."
"Then why don't you go take your coffee quickly and get back to work like everybody else?" Ivan retorted, adjusting his scarf.
"It's just a trivial case. A newbie would have done it in five minutes already," Alfred replied casually, pushing his glasses up to the bridge of his nose.
"If so, then maybe you should go back to work until you're completely finished," Ivan said. He shook his head. "Sometimes, I'm confused why I would mistake you for your brother. Matthew is way more serious than you are."
"Hey, don't bring Mattie into our conversation," Alfred said, annoyed.
"Al."
Both officers looked up to the source of the quiet voice. Standing behind the blonde officer was another man who looked almost exactly like Alfred. The difference was that Alfred had a cowlick sticking up on his head, while the other officer had a curl dropped in front of his face, and a slightly longer and wavier hair. He also had glasses.
Alfred flinched at the sight of his twin brother, his blue eyes widened in panic. "Matt! W-wha-what're you doing here?" he stammered.
Matthew raised an eyebrow at his brother, his purple eyes staring at his brother's. "What were you talking about, eh?"
"Nothing!"
Ivan smiled brightly. "We were just talking about how serious you are compared to comrade Alfred here," he said.
"Oh, thanks," Matthew replied with a somewhat smug smile. "I know how serious I am compared to my brother who always slacks off and procrastinate at the worst time possible."
Alfred pouted childishly at his brother, Ivan was giggling inside his scarf. "Matt, you jerkwad," Alfred whined. "Can you at least mention how cool I am whenever I work on a case? Imma hero, after all."
Both Ivan and Matthew rolled their eyes.
"By the way," Matthew said, changing the topic, "you both handled the train accident case a month ago, right?"
Both Alfred and Ivan exchanged glances, then nodded.
"There's a man who wants to meet you regarding that case, eh."
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"So, mister..."
"Arthur Kirkland."
"Ah, yeah." Alfred looked at the case file he was holding. He opened it, flipped some pages, before turning back to the Brit. "You said earlier you wanna confirm something?"
Arthur nodded. "Yes. It is about the victims of the railway accident that happened a month ago," he said.
Alfred did a double take. "Victims?" He looked at the case file, flipping some pages and opening some folded papers, before turning to his partner behind him. "Ivan, where's the book?"
"I'm looking for it, Alfred," Ivan answered, irritated, as he rummaging through files in the locker. When he did find the file he was looking for, he closed the locker and sat beside Alfred, putting the file on the table. "This is the book list regarding the victims of the train accident a month ago," Ivan explained. "It should cover all of the people involved."
"All of the people?" Arthur questioned. "Including the injured ones?"
"Well, yeah," Alfred answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "The people who were involved weren't just the killed ones, you know?"
"Alfred, behave yourself," Ivan warned.
"I'm looking for the 'killed ones', actually," Arthur said. "The media said there were 102 victims died in the accident."
"Hey, I was the one who said it."
"Alfred."
"Fine, fine." Alfred took the book, opened it, and flipped the pages. "The list of the injured ones is separated from the victims' list, and we're setting them alphabetically, so it should be easier to confirm whatever it is you wanna confirm."
Arthur looked at the American officer uncertainly. He had ever seen this officer from the TV, and in front of the media, he was all formal and professional. There was an air of authority emanating from him whenever cameras were facing towards him. But those formality and professionalism were all gone when Arthur met the officer in person. He felt like he was facing an obnoxious teenager. And he did look like one.
Ivan noticed the stare Arthur gave to Alfred, and he smiled. "I'm really sorry, he's always like this," he apologized, as if he could read Arthur's mind.
If that was supposed to be reassuring, then Arthur was not convinced.
"Ah, there it is," Alfred said, finally finding the list of the killed victims. He then looked up at the Brit. "So, what is it you wanna confirm?"
"Is there any Frenchman in the list?" Arthur asked.
"Well, yeah, a few," Alfred replied, flipping the pages of the book. "His name?"
"Francis Bonnefoy."
Alfred turned one page to another, searching for the mentioned name in the 'F' section of the book. He hummed as he searched. "Francis Armand, Francis Abington, Francis Balton—dang! There are so many Francises!"
"Just keep searching," Ivan muttered.
Arthur waited on the edge of his chair, both eager and anxious to hear the result. He couldn't help but biting his lower lip and shaking one of his legs. All of this had made him so nervous. He just wanted to say sorry to Francis; that was all! But why, the more he looked, the more he felt something just wasn't right? He had to be dragged in this kind of situation, and he knew he couldn't go back before he found out the answer. The previous faint voice in his head now shouted relentlessly to give up his hope, but Arthur couldn't give up just yet. Whatever the answer, he should be able to anticipate it. At least, he hoped so.
Alfred kept on flipping the papers, until he stopped at one page. He looked at it, pushing his glasses up and narrowing his eyes, before turning to Arthur. "Um, would you mind to spell the surname?" he asked, slightly nervous.
The Brit sighed. "It's B, O, double N, E, F, O, and Y."
Ivan leaned forward to see the page. "Oh, that's the guy," he muttered.
Arthur's heart skipped a beat.
Alfred gave the book to Arthur. "Is this the right man?" he asked.
The blonde Brit received the book and looked at the opened page. In there, the name Arthur had been so familiar with was printed clearly on the white paper. Underneath the name, the date of birth and the obituary of Francis were there as well. There was also a copy of Francis' ID card, along with his photo. Arthur recognized the person very well. He recognized the long blonde hair and those dark blue eyes.
The voice in his head was right.
Francis was dead.
Arthur's shoulders shook, his green eyes unfocused. Then, if Francis was dead, was the git who always argued with Arthur really Francis' spirit? And he didn't even tell him who he really was? Was everything he ever said was a lie?
"Bloody hell..."
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A/N:
Ohohoho~ I see some of you already has your own theories about Francis and his friends. I applause to whatever your theories are, and I respect them. They're kinda interesting to me, honestly. :3 And in here, I will give you my confirmation that, yes, Francis is dead. But I'll just tell you that. More will come in the later chapters. And there's a guest under the name Franois who asked if Jocelyn in the seventh chapter is a real APH character or not, and the answer is no. Jocelyn is just an OC of mine who I just had to make considering Francis' job as a designer's assistant. If you have any more theories and want to share it, feel free to review or send it via PM. You can also ask me via review or PM if you feel there's something you don't understand. I'd be happy to answer, as long as it not considered as a spoiler. (:
To be honest, this day is not really my best day. Something happened in school, and I was just really stressed and kind of depressed. My friends just wanted to help me out, but their comfort wasn't really helping, if I do say so. But that's enough chatting.
Keep reviewing! I really appreciate your comebacks, compliments, and theories. No flames, concrits are welcome. See you in the next chapter! :D