[Fanfic] The Darkness Within Me Chapter 2
Title: The Darkness Within Me | FF.net
Author: Me
Pairings/Characters: This chapter, America, England, Russia, and an OC. (No pairings in this series, unless you want to think it's there.)
Rating: This chapter, PG. Will turn M later.
Warnings: Russia and America bicker like old people. Oh, and OCs and use of human names.
Summary: It's a troubling time, where just being an everyday citizen is rough, it's even harder for the nations who carry the burdens of all of their people. All their troubles, all their worries, and all their fears. So much so they start to get sick. But what if they couldn't get better? What if the nations themselves begin to change as their people's fears turn into madness?
This chapter: If you were dying and you still had a few enemies, would you fight them or apologize?
Hoshiko2's cents: Here's chapter 2. And I realized that last chapter, I did not put a disclaimer up. Well here's one that encompasses the entire series. I do not own Hetalia (Axis Powers or World Series.) That belongs to the brilliant Himaruya Hidekaz.
I hope you enjoy my series and stick around because this will be quite a long run. Also, if you want more background information on the characters and how everything starts to turn into what's going to happen soon, please check my side stories. And please leave me a review, even a lovely, "I like/hate this" will let me know someone's reading this.
Arthur had been in the darkness and silence for a few hours before the van he was held in had come to a stop. He had been fraught with worry and concern for Alred's well being. He had managed to calm him before being locked away, but had he stayed that way? And were his agents much gentler than Arthur's had been? While Tom had simply said Arthur was infected, that was all he said and he kept it as simple as possible. And that changed Arthur into thinking he was being tricked and kidnapped. His mood was fouler than normal as the doors opened in front of him.
"Sir England," Tom said, the bright lights behind him turning him into only a silhouette. "We have to change vehicles."
"Are we at the airport?" Arthur asked.
"Yes, sir. I figure you knew exactly how long it would take to get here?"
Arthur held his tongue as he clamored out of the back of the van. He brushed off his shoulders casually, trying to keep his cool. "I'm surprised. No one to grab me this time?"
The corners of Tom's lips twitched. "There is no need, sir. You agreed to come along and are our guest."
"Funny, it doesn't quite feel that way." Arthur turned towards the airplane angrily.
"I assure you that this is for your own protection," Tom said.
"How?" Arthur crossed his arms, glaring at nothing in particular. "My lands are safe and we have no crime, at least not compared to you. Who would be here to attack me?"
"That information is classified," Tom replied.
Arthur sighed, his annoyance with the African-American growing increasingly worse. "Am I to assume you are taking me across the Atlantic, then?"
"Not yet, sir," Tom said. He led Arthur towards the plane. "We have to make a side trip."
"Should I even ask or is that, too, classified?"
Tom chuckled slightly. "No, sir. We're going to Russia."
Red flags shot up in alarm and he stopped. He shook his head. Lately, he hadn't been on the best of terms with the ex-Soviet country. "I didn't agree to that. I know Alfred and Ivan are thawing out their problems, but that doesn't involve me."
"We have reason to believe Sir Russia is infected as well," Tom explained. "We have to go there to see if he'll come along."
"Isn't that a little too presumptuous?" Arthur asked, furrowing his eyebrows. "First of all, you don't know he's sick, so marching into his lands, especially with a welcome such as the one you gave me, will be sure to leave a horribly nasty impression on him. And with a country like Russia, that's not a good way of asking him to do anything, much less ask him to come to America. Secondly, if he is infected, it's his own duty to fix his own problems. Meddling in another country's affairs is a very typical American mindset. What gives you the right to go into a country that has no business being involved in Alfred's illness?"
Tom looked down at his shoes, almost sheepishly. He didn't reply. Arthur looked around and realized that there were no other cars or vans. This didn't add up. There were at least five units of agents and SWAT team members on Arthur's front lawn when he had first been apprehended, but now there was just one unit accompanying him. And that unit didn't include Alfred.
"He escaped, didn't he?" Arthur asked. He looked back at Tom, amazed. "An amazing top secret agency such as yourself let your own country escape."
"We've dispatched the rest of the troops after Sir Jones and we will soon have him back. There is nothing to worry about." Tom sounded as if he was shooting the breeze with Arthur.
"I don't take well to bull shit," Arthur grumbled. "What makes you think he went to Russia?"
"We have a tracking device on Sir Jones," Tom replied. "It's how we knew where he was this morning."
"Huh? But Alfred told me you allowed him to be there." Arthur grit his teeth as realization sunk in. "He snuck away and came to me knowing it would be awhile before your plane landed, didn't he?"
Tom couldn't help but smile, almost as if he were proud of his country's scheme. "Yes, well, I've been told that he learned such a trick from you."
"From me?" Arthur repeated.
"Yes."
Tom walked up the stairs into the plane. Arthur followed and was shown to his seat. Once the engines began and the plane flew off, Arthur brought up the subject from earlier.
"When did I teach Alfred a trick like that? Surely it wasn't recent. I don't condone that kind of behavior."
Tom looked over at Arthur in disbelief. "I don't take well to bull shit." He ignored Arthur's warning growls and mutterings under his breath. "He claims that you taught him such a thing when he was still your underlying."
"Huh?" Arthur tried to recall just when exactly Alfred had told everyone, but he couldn't think of any times. It was true he had taught Alfred practically everything he knew, but… "Oh! Yes… I remember now."
A sweet and gentle warmth spread through his chest at the memories. Back then, they had been so close, but their separation had caused many years where whenever Arthur looked back on his past with Alfred, a kind of bitterness claimed his heart. However, they were much closer now, their political status being one of a "special relationship". He could look back on such memories with fondness now.
"Yes… I see now…," Arthur mumbled, hiding his smile behind his hand as he held his head up by a hand under his chin, his fingers curled against his lips. He looked out the window without another word.
Today, it wasn't snowing. It had snowed enough the previous day in Moscow. Instead, the sun was shining bright and the crisp mid day tickled the Russian's nose peeking over the top of his precious scarf. It wasn't nearly as cold as it could be, and soon would be, but the day carried that chill that was enough to make a small shiver go down even Russia's back. The pale haired man named Ivan, not after Ivan the Terrible, as he liked to remind even his own people, stood outside in the fresh snow, ignoring its existence.
He had gotten a strange text message from Alfred only an hour ago asking him to meet him outside of his Moscow house. At first, Ivan was confused and surprised that Alfred had even texted him in the first place, but as time wore on, he was growing just slightly worried.
Only slightly, he reminded himself. Little America could only be playing some game with me.
Still, the text from Alfred was unusually brief and devoid of all little cute smiley faces or exclamation points. When Alfred texted from his work cell phone, it would be serious, but this was Alfred's personal phone; the one he used to harass others with. The texts always came filled to the brim with unnecessary words and faces that infuriated Ivan.
Still, he found preferring those faces and nonsensical rambles to the hurried and serious text from earlier. Ivan was on guard for something to happen.
A man bundled up tighter than Ivan began to approach him. Ivan knew at once from the tiny blonde hair sticking out from his beanie that it was Alfred. However, he was coughing extremely hard that Ivan stepped away in shock.
"Not feeling well, little America?" Ivan asked.
Alfred stopped before Ivan and then sniffled so hard his head snapped up. He wiped his nose while staring out at Ivan over his scarf. His blue eyes were so dull that Ivan briefly thought that perhaps it was the wrong person.
"Guh… I'm horribly ill," Alfred groaned.
Ivan was relieved to know it was him, but only half heartedly. To say he was "horribly ill" looked to be an understatement. He rolled his eyes, thinking, Idiot, if you're sick enough to cough out lungs you shouldn't be out of bed. Do you want to die?
"Are you sure you should be up?" Ivan asked.
"I don't want to rest," Alfred replied, shivering. "It makes me think of being sick. Being up gets my mind off of things Plus, I want to see if everyone else is okay. I'm worried my condition spread."
Ivan blinked a few times, waiting to see if Alfred had anything else to say. He was only slightly confused by Alfred's sudden ramble. "Perfectly fine. You do realize the world doesn't revolve around you, da? Especially me."
Alfred sneezed once and shivered twice. "No, but I'm just worried… I hear that it can spread to people who I'm close to or do business with."
"That's quite a lot of countries, da?" Ivan looked up at the sky. He could feel in his bones that the snow was coming. "Try not to overexert yourself, little America. I'd hate for you to die, especially next to me."
Ivan couldn't tell if Alfred's stuttering came from his lukewarm words or the chill of the air. "Re-re-really? You don't want me to die…?"
Figures he'd take things so literally, Ivan thought. He sighed, shaking his head, but smiling as always. "I'm merely saying it would be very unsatisfying to have you die due to an illness. It would be much better to have you go down at the opposite end of my bloody pipe, da?"
Alfred chuckled and shivered, but not from the cold. He fought off a coughing fit in time to playfully jest with Ivan. "You're too serious about that shit."
He lost the battle with his body and fell into a serious of hard coughs. He bent over and poked his mouth out from behind his scarf. Some spit flew from his mouth as he continued to cough. Ivan, tired of waiting for him to finish, slammed a hand hard on his back, effectively stopping Alfred's coughs.
"Am I?" Ivan asked, talking as if the conversation hadn't been interrupted. "Don't worry, little America. It's all in good fun…sometimes."
"I always worry." Alfred stood up straight. His face was no longer covered by the scarf and Ivan could clearly see him. His cheeks were tinged pink from the bite of the chipper air. "Especially with you. You'll never forgive me, will you?"
Ivan cocked an eyebrow, his smile still in place. This was all a game, he thought. "Over what, pray tell? The list could reach Sputnik."
"Everything," Alfred replied sadly. "For anything. You'll never forgive me. Even as I stand here, possibly about to die, you won't."
Both eyebrows rose this time. A brief flash of worry crossed Ivan's mind at the words "die" passed Alfred's lips, but he didn't reflect it. He still didn't even know what Alfred was talking about. To the American, this conversation could be a game as well.
"Seeking forgiveness on your deathbed? Ha! How pathetic of you, little America," Ivan laughed.
Alfred managed a glare, but it wasn't strong. He was still fighting off more coughs creeping up into his throat. "I'm here to seek an agreement."
"Oh really?" Ivan stopped laughing, his smile growing wider. He watched Alfred much more closely. Where was his hidden weapon now?
"Da," Alfred replied in Russian. He held out his hand. "I haven't held any hard feelings with you for years now, despite what you think. Our politics might've clashed a lot and we might not have had the same taste in hobbies or whatever, but all in all, I never really thought of you as someone really all that bad. There aren't very many types of 'people' like us in this world... So I just want you to agree with me... that we're friends at least on some level... That's all I ask…"
Ivan had listened to everything Alfred with criticism. He eyed his outstretched hand warily. "Have you been taking too much medicine, little America? You're not contagious are you?"
"Ivan…," Alfred sighed. Hearing his name, Ivan stiffened. Alfred knew Ivan hated his name, especially when said aloud. "I'm here to be your friend…"
That sent up all the wrong signals to Ivan. He backed away, his smile changing along with his tone. "I've heard that before, right before I was knifed in the back."
"I don't want to hurt you," Alfred pressed. He kept his hand out to Ivan. His coughs were slipping in between his words. Ivan ignored that desperate look in the younger man's eyes.
"Now you're just being dramatic," Ivan scoffed. His smile was slowly vanishing. He could only tolerate Alfred's lies for so long. "It doesn't suit you."
"Because I'm dying," Alfred seethed. He stepped closer, forcing Ivan back. "Did you see when Kiku betrayed me? I was serious then too."
Ivan's eye twitched. "No need to remind me…" He was still at a loss of words as to how Alfred got a hold of the bomb before he did.
Still, he regarded the American. He really looked bad, with his tired features and weak eyes. It's impossible for a man like Alfred to die from an illness. It's…America, Ivan thought sadly.
"Cut the sob story, little America. You're probably suffering from eating too many of your burgers. Just take it easy and you'll recover," Ivan said nonchalantly.
He didn't realize, however, that his words struck a very tight chord with Alfred. The blonde snapped suddenly, no longer holding back any of his words. "You know what? You're one to talk you fucking little kid! You have never been able to let go of anything! Even when people force their kindness down your throat! We're not all the same, you fucking asshole! I've been betrayed too and everyone constantly blames me for anything, but I still befriend them because we're all we've got in this world and we have to work together!"
Alfred flung his hands around as General Winter decided to make it snow. Ivan merely watched as the American continued to explode. "But you just go on and on about what a pitiful soul you are and use your pipe to get anything done! And here I am, ready to die, and you're just going to blow me off! I hope all your karma gets you in the end because you fucking deserve it! You can go straight to-"
Alfred suddenly started coughing so hard that he fell to his knees, holding his chest. His heaving and wheezing were so great that Ivan's eyes widened slightly in surprise. As Ivan watched, he thought, he gets flustered far too easily. And he wonders why people take advantage of him all of the time. Being sensitivity is a weakness in "our" world.
Ivan knelt down to him and took Alfred's chin in his hand, forcing him to look up. "Da?"
However, blood meet Ivan's hands as it came out of Alfred's mouth. The American stared at the blood in horror while the Russian could only stare in aghast.
"Just what...is happening to you?" Ivan asked shakily. He looked at the blood in amazement. It had been a long time since he'd seen this blood. It was almost as if he had figured it had changed all these years, but it was still warm and red.
"I'm dying," Alfred replied, his voice horribly scratched.
Worry crept into Ivan. He reached for Alfred, but the man turned away. He coughed, his blood staining the snow. Ivan's purple eyes were drawn to it instantly. He grasped for Alfred in a panic, but the man scrambled away hastily.
"Shit... I'm sorry..." He started to run away, briefly looking behind at Ivan. "Wash your hands, Ivan... Hurry...!"
The snow gave way under Alfred, causing him to stumble. He wobbled before falling into the snow. As he hit the snow, more of his blood painted it red instead of white.
Ivan rushed to Alfred's side. He masked his unusual fear with his usual sharp remarks. "Idiot, stop overexciting yourself!"
Alfred shook Ivan's hands away. "N-no... I have to get back..."
"To where, exactly?" Ivan sighed. Without a word, he picked Alfred up with the greatest of ease.
Alfred, caught off guard, couldn't put up much of a fight. "To my home...in D.C. They're waiting..."
"You came all this way?" Ivan sighed heavily. Still, a small amount of warmth spread into his chest, thinking of just how much effort Alfred was making just to see him; Russia. "You really are an idiot."
Ivan turned, leading Alfred towards his house. The weaker man tried to walk to much failure. It was almost comical as he stumbled, leaning more on Ivan than his own two legs. The Russian didn't find it at all funny. He instantly kicked in Alfred's knees, carrying him wedding style.
"Behave or I'll throw you over my shoulder," Ivan warned.
"This is embarrassing...," Alfred grumbled. He didn't put much of a fight. He was completely spent from attempt to walk and, to make matters worse, his coughs were coming back.
"You should have thought about that before coming all the way out here," Ivan lectured. He was oblivious to the snow falling around them. "At this rate, you won't get anywhere. If you're good, I may let you walk the final few steps. Then, you can start recovering, not playing the perfect hero."
Alfred grumbled in Ivan's arms, starting to force his way out. He wouldn't stand for more teasing from the older blonde. "What'll it take for you to be my friend?"
Ivan shuffled Alfred in his arms to cease his ministrations. "Why does it matter? Why are you so hung up on that notion?"
"Because I want to be friends with everyone," Alfred replied. "And I've always admired you."
Ivan's eyes hardened. "Could have fooled me. Or was 'Commie bastard' just a pet name?"
"Hey, fights happen." Alfred stopped momentarily to cough. "You think I've always been friends with everyone like I am now?"
Ivan reached his front porch and stopped, setting Alfred down on the ground. Now where were his keys? "You certainly try to start fights with me."
Alfred leaned against the wall. However, he was starting to feel less fatigue and more anger. "No, I really don't. You push at me and I try to be friendly, but like I keep saying, you take things too seriously."
"And you take things too lightly," Ivan shot back. Damnit, he swore. Where were his keys?
"No, I just choose what to take seriously. You should try it sometimes."
Ivan fought back a twitch that would have turned into a slap across Alfred's face. "And antagonizing me isn't considered serious?"
"Like you're one to talk?" Alfred scoffed. He eased himself off of the wall, staring at Ivan.
"I push when others push me," Ivan replied. He had stopped looking for the keys and was now keeping his head down to not look at Alfred.
Why am I so riled up? Ivan thought. It's normal that me and America banter back and forth like this, always has and always will be. What's different?
"I'm telling you, I don't push." Alfred began to cough again. Ivan didn't look up this time. Once he was done, Alfred mumbled, "At least...not on purpose... If I do that, I don't mean to."
Ivan heard him all too clearly. He clenched his fist in his pocket. "Easy to say…after the fact."
"You know what? It's better than nothing. And who came to who first anyways?"
Ivan was silent for a moment. He slowly lifted his head, but couldn't quite meet Alfred's eyes. "And who's hacking up blood because of it? You know, little America, this isn't one of your movies."
Alfred felt his anger bubbling, but forced down that something. "No shit, Sherlock. For one thing, the hero wouldn't be carried like that. And another, the hero wouldn't die… Except in Shane, but Shane was an exception of a movie."
"Then why do you expect me to simply play into your hands?" Ivan asked. He removed his hands and stood up straight, challenging Alfred. His head spun around as to why he was so angered by Alfred this time around. Nothing had changed, so why now?
"Because it's the nice thing to do? To accept someone's heartfelt friendship," Alfred started.
Ivan threw his head back and laughed, a good, deep laugh. He stood there and just laughed at Alfred, in his face. And Alfred found he could no longer tolerate it.
"You know what? Forget it. Just forget it."
Alfred started to walk away, but Ivan caught up to him with the greatest of ease. He reached for the younger man's wrist, but he was shoved away. Alfred shoved back his friendship.
"Get away," Alfred snarled. "I made a mistake coming here."
Ivan couldn't help but growl. "What else did you expect me to do, with such a child-like comment like that? Still young. Still naive. Still thinking that this is a perfect world where everything falls neatly into place."
"Like you're any better?" Alfred yelled.
Ivan stopped. He hated that something that was coming up, but to stop it, he had to say something. He had to say a truth. "For once, we agree. I'm not. Far from it."
Alfred spun around, anger clearly evident in his ever cheerful blue eyes. "Then stop acting so high and mighty!"
"I've had it pounded into me from childhood of my inferiority, of my uncivilized culture," Ivan started. He stared at Alfred, not in disgust, but shock. He, too, was just as upset. But why? "And so, to counter this, I do act, as you put it, 'high and mighty'. It's pride."
Alfred stopped. His shoulders dropped as he eased back just enough.
"It's not always a good thing," Ivan continued. "It poisons those around you, enclosing you within your own tower, but within it…safety. I could care less if the world hates me, so long as I keep my people safe."
Alfred poked Ivan square in the chest. Ivan glared at the touch, but didn't flinch. He refused.
"You hypocrite," Alfred grumbled. "You are! You keep saying I'm childish, naive, and prideful and shit like that when you're just as bad as I am! And then you keep teasing me and taunting me and fighting with me!"
Ivan hesitated. Shouldn't Alfred have been happy Ivan admitted such things? Why was he still fighting? It was enough to sap away the last bit of warmth he felt in his chest. "Your point? That's what makes it all the more entertaining. I can read you like a book."
Suddenly, Alfred punched Ivan right in the cheek. The man took it, but didn't fall. He staggered back a bit, readjusted his scarf, and stared back at Alfred. "Feel any better?"
Alfred found that he hadn't. It was a punch he had wanted to give for years, possibly decades, now. "NO!"
Alfred broke free of his hold. He threw more punches at Ivan, hitting him in the face, the gut, and up in the chin. Amazingly, Ivan didn't even try to dodge them. He felt that Alfred needed this; they needed this. He knew it would be oh so easy to dodge and fight back, taking the best advantage of the situation with such a weak Alfred before him, but then it would be just that easy to freeze their friendship again.
When Ivan started to bleed from the mouth, Alfred stopped. He stared at Ivan's blood, but then collapsed, falling face first into the snow. Ivan wiped the blood away, sighing in relief. He was glad that was over, but was amazed Alfred held out for that long. Now he would have to carry him inside and wait until he calmed down.
He knelt down next to Alfred. "Sad...aren't we?" When the American didn't answer, Ivan poked his side a few times. "Hey, little America…?"
But Alfred was not moving. Ivan turned him over so he could get a look at him. The younger man was ashen colored in the face, his eyes closed and his lips covered in his dried blood.
Ivan shook Alfred gently; worry creeping up the back of his spine. "Hey…America." His gentle shakes turned violent. That something had returned. He coughed once or twice, but continued to focus only on Alfred. Only on America. "America! You Capitalist pig! Stop it! America! Don't you even think about it! You are not allowed to die! Not...like this...Not on my front lawn! I'm the one who's supposed to kill you, by pipe, by fist, by bombs, something! Not some STUPID disease that you probably got from your abomination known as food!"
Alfred's body shook like a limp rag doll. Ivan kept holding out the futile hope that Alfred's eyes would pop open, he'd see the endless blue, but still they remained closed.
"God damn it! Don't die!" Ivan's voice cracked. "ALFRED!"
Suddenly a horde of men in suits rushed onto the scene. They saw Alfred's limp body and grew anxious, calling for Ivan to release the man. This in turn caused Ivan to grow alarmed. He instinctively grabbed Alfred, drawing him in with one arm and wielding his pipe in the other.
"What is this?" Ivan growled, looking around at the men.
Tom appeared from amidst the crowd, his hands up as a sign of peace. "Sir Russia, we have to take Sir Jones now. I suggest you release him and come with us to be tested for contamination. We mean you no harm as we work for Sir Jones. We have been sent here to take him back to the U.S. with us and help him with his illness."
Ivan growled, not believing Tom for a minute. His something had started to turn into the start of his kol-ing. "And if I DoN'T?"
Tom stared Ivan down. "I'm afraid we'll have to take him by force."
Ivan smirked. He was hungry for a challenge, although taking on a human was never long nor as much fun as it were to face a country. "TRy mE."
Ivan rushed the first group of agents, still carrying Alfred. He quickly moved to bash at their heads and break their knees. They moved too swiftly. Ivan told himself he was only slow because he was carrying Alfred and that was hindering his motions. It had nothing to do with the sudden something sliding down the back of his throat, touching the tip of his stomach.
Tom held out his hand, pointing at Ivan. "OPEN FIRE!"
As the agents opened fired, Ivan turned his body to shield Alfred. He took all the hits. Once they ceased fire, he looked up to them, blood dripping down his face. "Was that all? My TurN."
Tom sighed, not wanting anything to resort to this. "Don't do this, Sir Russia. You'll become contaminated. We have ways of helping Sir Jones. Just give us our country."
Ivan narrowed his eyes. "Your country? I know how the FBI works." He pointed at the agents with his pipe. "Do you really have a cure or are simply going to use this as a chance to poke and prod?"
Tom rolled his eyes. "He's our country. We obviously don't want him to die or else we'd be disbanded. Plus, he's always been a close friend of ours. We want him alive at all costs."
Ivan's eyes narrowed. He knew he wasn't willing to let Amer-no-Alfred go. He looked down, muttering, "Alfred really was friends with everyone, wasn't he?" He tightened his grip more.
"Listen to me," Tom started. "If you want your people and everything you stand for to keep going, you will give us back our country. Otherwise, the virus can spread to you."
That was a new word. He had heard of contamination and sickness, but not a virus. He narrowed his eyes. "Virus? What virus? What's going on?"
"It's what Sir Jones has. It only affects countries like you and Sir Jones. It can affect you at any given moment. It has already spread to Sir Canada and we're starting to see signs with Sir Japan as well. We believe you, Sir China, and Sir England are next."
Ivan was inwardly startled, thinking, Canada and Japan too? "What do you mean? How can it affect us?"
"The idea of a country and all it stands for personified," Tom began. "We believe that the very cores of the countries are starting to change so dramatically that all aspects of their personalities are being stripped away. Every so often, Sir Jones gets sick because things change inside of him; that being the ideas of the people. However, this is different as a virus has affected him, combined with the economy downfall, as well as a sudden altercation in his personality. Did you not see sudden changes in his behavior not unlike him? Have you not started to see it in yourself or in others?
Ivan paused. That was why. That was why he came asking for friendship, an agreement, and why he snapped so easily. Why Ivan, too, had reacted the way he did. Why he was clutching the man so tightly…
He focused back on the agents. "And how exactly do you plan to fix this? Even we countries don't fully understand our origins. What can you possibly do?"
Tom arched his arms around to show the general area of where they were. "Unfortunately, out in the open, I cannot say. There is word that certain other countries are using this to their advantage and are actually hunting for Sir Jones as we speak. If you come with us and agree to be tested, we will explain everything."
Ivan tensed at the word 'tested'. In other words, he thought, become a lab rat, at the hands of these capitalist pigs. "And how do I know if you can be trusted?"
"We already have Sir Canada at our facilities and he has yet to be harmed or used in any way," Tom replied calmly. "Think of this way, if there were no countries, the world would fall apart. Why would we jeopardize that?"
Ivan's eye twitched, as he held back his thoughts. He scanned the seemingly countless agents, tense for their next move. He chanced a glance down at Alfred, but saddened at seeing his limp body. He was so cold, despite how close in proximity they were. His cheerful blue eyes were gone and his irritating laugh no longer filled the air. It was all very wrong.
Ivan mumbled in Alfred's ear, "I swear, Alfred, if this is all a ruse, if I lose everything because of you, I'll bring you back just so I can beat you to a bloody pulp!" He looked back at the agents. "Very well. I'll come along..."
Tom smiled slightly. "Good... Now put Sir Jones down so that we may take him. You'll have to come with me so we can test you."
Ivan's grip on Alfred tightened. He hadn't agreed to any tests, just to go along with them and hand over Alfred when he saw the time was right. Or had he not said such a condition aloud? "I'd rather not."
"We have to take Sir Jones to a separate area where our specialists may inspect him," Tom explained.
"Separate?" Ivan repeated. "Please forgive me, but I don't trust you in the slightest. I'll come along, so long as America stays near me."
Some FBI agents started to move in, but Tom cut them off. He shook his head. Their anxiety lapsed momentarily, but Ivan's was still tense. He stared them down, edging them on to fight him.
Tom returned his attention to Ivan. "All right then... This way, please."
Ivan was surprised that they actually complied, but remained cautious. His pipe was still firmly in his grip. "Very well."
Tom turned, causing the agents to part. Behind them were black vans sitting so unassumingly in the street in front of Ivan's house. Tom led the way, Ivan following, keeping watch of the men. Why must it always be ominous black vans? Ivan thought to himself. He got in, carefully holding Alfred, while glaring down anyone whose gaze lingered.
The doors slammed closed, drawing Ivan a familiar darkness and silence. Only, he was holding Alfred tight to his chest. He could still hear his heartbeat, but it was faint. That was enough hope to make the large man give a tiny smile; one he would only give in the dark.
~hoshiko