❝do you come here much? i've got to see your face some more❞
den of thieves ; chapter four : love drunk | axis powers hetalia | 2300 words | vietnam ; taiwan ; france ; lithuania ; ukraine ; belarus ; austria ; hungary ; prussia | pg |
mafia au. in which love gets in the way of other objectives.
chapter one.
chapter two.
chapter three.
Den of Thieves
Chapter Four: Love Drunk
She's already barely paying attention to the customers in front of her when she seems a distinctive blonde head leave the restaurant. Despite the rather annoyed looks she's garnering, she turns her back on the customers without a word and races back into the kitchen.
"Wan! Wan, where are you?"
"Right here," her little sister grumbles, emerging with a tray laden with delicate tea cups. "What are you screaming about, Jiejie?"
"I found an opportunity for recon. Can you hold down the fort here for a bit?"
"Sure, but...wait. Recon? This doesn't have anything to do with him, does it?"
Vietnam can't meet her little sister's gaze. She looks at her feet and mumbles, "Maybe. So what? He's a lead, isn't he?"
"Jiejie," Taiwan groans. "Not again. Gege is going to freak if he hears about this."
"It's a good lead!" Vietnam insists. "We haven't seen France in what, three years? Then all of a sudden he just shows up in our restaurant! Tell me, Taiwan, how can that even begin to be a coincidence?"
"Who cares? We were given one job to do--and it didn't include you throwing yourself at him, again!"
"I don't throw myself at him," Vietnam snaps back. "And since when are you content to follow Ahn's every order without complaint? He sold our little brother, remember?"
"But if we finish up this job, he'll come back! If the objective is achieved, he'll bring Hong back, right?" There are soft tears in Taiwan's eyes as she screams at her sister, her voice breaking on the point of desperation. "He has to come back."
"Ahn's the one who gave him away in the first place," Vietnam grumbles. "And to Kirkland, of all people. And who's Kirkland's greatest rival, Wan?" Her voice drops, now, her tone becoming gentler.
Taiwan sniffs as she wipes her eyes. Suddenly, something clicks. "...France."
"Who better to help us get our brother back, than the man who lost everything to Kirkland? He certainly has the motivation to help us."
"And I bet you'll give him some more," Taiwan mutters under her breath. Outloud, she says, "It's a good idea, Jiejie, but I don't think you should do it. There's a reason you and me aren't leading this family; as much as I hate him sometimes, there's a reason Gege is. He loves Hong Kong, right. He wouldn't just give him away, unless there was a plan. What if we ruin it by meddling?"
"I'm done with betting on Ahn every time," Vietnam says quietly, but with passion. "And there's things I need to know."
Taiwan and Vietnam state at one another for a very long time. Finally, Taiwan sighs and rubs her hands together. "Fine, Jiejie--go. Do what you have to. But don't be rash--trust in Gege, at least for a little while. We'll keep an eye on France, and if something goes wrong, if we need him, we can always enact this later."
The smile Vietnam flashes at her sister is warm but cynical. "You're right. So just...stay here, ok? I'll be back soon."
As Vietnam runs out of the kitchen, her long tail of hair trailing behind her, Taiwan murmurs, "You'd better."
But as soon as her sister is gone, Taiwan reaches into the pocket of her skirt and extracts a thin, metallic pink cellphone. She gently taps out a message onto the keyboard, then hits SEND before she can think better of it.
WE'VE BEEN SEEING A LOT OF OLD FACES POPPING UP RECENTLY. BUT I HAVEN'T SEEN YOURS.
WHERE ARE YOU? CAN WE TALK? &hearts, FORMOSA.
- - -
When Vietnam first gets out onto the street, she's terrified that she's lost him. Still, a rather tall blonde man is not the hardest thing to find in Chinatown, so after a few minutes of frenzied searching, she spots him. Releasing all her breath at once, she wills her heart to beat a bit slower as she follows him. He seems to be taking his time: window shopping, chatting with passersby, staring up at the sky. She can't decide whether he's being cunning or just whimsical. Belatedly, she realizes she may have been wrong about him. What if, three years after devastating defeat, he's lost his edge? What if he won't be a savior, but a liability? But Vietnam pushes those thoughts away, because they lead nowhere. Right now, she has to take this chance, because it may not come again.
Lost in her own thoughts, she doesn't realize at first she's lost him. When she does, she freezes, looking wildly around her for any trace. "Shit."
"Such strong language," a gentle voice tuts from behind her. And before she can reach for her gun or even turn around, strong hands have grabbed both of her wrists and twisted them behind her back.
"I do believe you're out of practice, ma chère." France's face is low against hers, his lips close to her ear as she squirms in his grasp. "I've never known you to be so sloppy."
"Let go of me," Vietnam hisses at him. He does not oblidge her.
"You were following me, Vi, or did you forget that fact? I must admit, after having gone in cognito for so long, I don't appreciate this breach in my privacy."
"Then don't come to our restaurant with Italy, of all people!" As soon as the words leave her mouth, France clasps one hand over it. Both of her hands are now gripped tightly in one of his, and he has her so thoroughly held that when he begins to move, she has no choice but to go with him. Vietnam realizes that he's sliding her back into an alley, but there's nothing she can do about it. A cold anxiety grips her heart.
"I should have know the Ancient One would never leave that handhold of his. Foolish of me to go there--but noodles were the closest avaialble substitute for pasta." She can feel France shake his head ruefully.
When they're far back into the alley, he pushes her up against the wall, turning her to face him. His hands are cold and firm on her shoulders, and she feels as though she's falling into his deep blue eyes. They used to be so light, carefree; now they are opaque and shadowed, filled with things she'd rather not know about.
"Why?" she asks quietly, now that her mouth is free. "Why bring Italy into this, whatever it is?"
"Because I am one man going up against six families of trained spies and assassins," France snaps. "All my allies, all my family, were stolen away from me. And after three years of chewing on that, I've had enough."
"You two are the only ones not affiliated with any of this, anymore," Vietnam murmurs. "Why would you want to come back to it?"
"Because no matter how much I try, I can't forget how power tastes." France shakes his head ruefully. "I can't ignore that those who were once under by command are now serving him. And most of all I can't forgive that bastard, for everything he did to me, for everything he kept me from...for existing."
She's never heard so much hatred in his voice, before, and it scares her. Her face blanches, but she's frozen, impotent. "...just what are you planning, France?"
"Nothing I can tell you about, ma chère, not when you are so tied to that brother of yours."
"It's not like I had any other options," Vietnam tells him acidly. "Maybe I would have chosen differently, if I'd been given a choice."
"And for that, I am sorry," France murmurs. He leans close, releases his hold on her shoulders in order to cup her face in his hands. Her heart begins to beat very fast as he leans down and gently kisses her on the lips.
When he finally releases her--how long has it been? a lifetime--she squrims away from him, panting. "I-I'm sorry," she says, "I have to go."
Lost in her own emotions, she still steals a glance at him as she speeds away: hands lighting a cigarette, head tilted to the sky with ironic laughter.
- - -
There are still sincere tears running down Lithuania's cheeks when he finally makes it home. His footsteps echo eerily in the hollow passages as he makes his way down the long cooridor. Usually, he'd be making this journey with Poland, and the other man's loud, bland remarks and contagious laughter would reverberate off of the walls and fill the cooridor with life. Today, he is alone, and everything seems empty.
At the end of the hallway there is a young woman, her platinum blonde hair held back from her face with thick black ribbon, her hands clasped in front of her. When she spots him, she scowls, but when Lithuania paces her without comment or notice, her brow furrows in confusion. She follows him, holding him back with a hand on his shoulder.
"What happened?" She demands of him coldly, her voice like a knife. "Why is your lip bleeding? Where're Poland?"
But Lithuania can only shake his head as his body is wracked with sobs. The woman's eyes widen in alarm, and she takes a tentative step away from him.
"What happened?" she asks again.
Lithuania sniffs, wipes the tears from his eyes. "...we were ambushed," he says finally, his voice dead. "And Feliks...Feliks didn't get away."
"By whom?"
"...Austria, and Prussia and Switzerland."
"But those three...they would never work together." The new voice belongs to another woman, who steps out of one of the adjoining rooms looking very sad. She fingers her short, gray-blonde hair and gently wraps her arms around Lithuania. "Oh, Toris. I'm sure there was nothing you could do."
"If those three are working together," the first woman says, "then it means the Black Eagle is back."
Lithuania gently breaks away from the other woman's hug. "Yes. Natalya, Yekaterina...Germany's back. And he's made his first move."
"We must tell Brother immediately," Belarus says. And before Ukraine and Lithuania can even blink, she has dissapeared down the halls, her heels making hardly any sound.
"He...is not going to be happy," Lithuania murmurs. He sucks in his breath and smoothes down his hair. "I don't know how I let this happen."
"It's not your fault, Toris," Ukraine says.
"I let it happen," Lithuania insists, "Again! I let them take Feliks!"
Ukraine pauses, her mind awash with memories of a time when her brother wasn't their leader, but Lithuania and Poland were. She sighs heavily, extends her hand. "Come on. We have to report back."
And fifteen minutes later, when they are standing side by side with Belarus in front of a large oaken desk, their boss turns around in his swivel chair and regards them blandly through icy purple eyes.
"They will not get away with this," he promises cheerfully, his mouth smiling in a way that never reaches his eyes. "Someone will pay."
- - -
As Prussia walks down the street, he pauses, a sudden chill washing over him. It is gone just as quickly as it appeared, however, so he merely shakes his head and continues walking. Austria is a few paces in front of him, and now the other man stops and turns angrily on Prussia.
"I told you to stop following me," he says firmly. "Now, go away."
"No, I don't think I will," Prussia says obnoxiously, in a tone that indicates he rather wishes he could stick out his tongue.
"May I ask why you feel the need to follow me?"
"Just because West trusts you, doesn't mean I do."
Austria crosses his arms over his chest and gives Prussia a long, hard look. Behind his thin spectacles, his indigo eyes are smouldering. "Then it's too bad that you have no say in the matter, moron. If he trusts me, that's enough."
"Just know that I'm keeping an eye on you, priss," Prussia continues. "You may have everyone else fooled, but I know that you can't tolerate failure. And that's what you did. You failed, and West had to come back and pick up the pieces."
"Shut. Up." Austria keeps his voice steady, but there is so much bittnerness in it that Prussia backpeddals. The silver-haired man rolls his eyes, releases his breath in a huff.
"Do what you want, damn aristocrat. But if you're mistakes put my brother in danger again, rest assured that you'll never have to worry about failure again."
Prussia saunters off after that, the setting sun dyeing his hair almost orange as he slips his hands in his pockets and disappears amongst the buildings. Austria slumps for a moment, then turns around violently and slams his fist into a wall.
"...Roderich?" Suddenly, there are two delicate but firm hands on top of his, a woman removing his glove and gently examining the broken skin between his knuckles. "Why would you do that?"
He looks up, his cheeks red, as he meets Hungary's gaze. She is looking at him condemningly.
"I was frustrated," Austria replies mildly. And then, "I'm glad you came."
"It's the first message I've received from you in three years," she replies tartly. "How could I not?"
"I am so sorry," he says quietly. "You must believe that. I hadn't meant to leave you with him for so long."
"Don't appologize; I make my own decisions about my life. I'm sorry, Roderich, but I'm not waiting for you to save me."
"Then...?"
She shakes her head. "I don't want to talk about it right now. It's a beautiful evening, and there's a table waiting for us at the restaurant. I just want to be with you."
So he smiles softly, and wraps one arm around her shoulders, and leads her away.
And Prussia, peeking out from two buildings down, stares at their retreating backs with disbelief and malice in his blood red eyes.
- - -
mafia au. in which love gets in the way of other objectives.
chapter one.
chapter two.
chapter three.
Den of Thieves
Chapter Four: Love Drunk
She's already barely paying attention to the customers in front of her when she seems a distinctive blonde head leave the restaurant. Despite the rather annoyed looks she's garnering, she turns her back on the customers without a word and races back into the kitchen.
"Wan! Wan, where are you?"
"Right here," her little sister grumbles, emerging with a tray laden with delicate tea cups. "What are you screaming about, Jiejie?"
"I found an opportunity for recon. Can you hold down the fort here for a bit?"
"Sure, but...wait. Recon? This doesn't have anything to do with him, does it?"
Vietnam can't meet her little sister's gaze. She looks at her feet and mumbles, "Maybe. So what? He's a lead, isn't he?"
"Jiejie," Taiwan groans. "Not again. Gege is going to freak if he hears about this."
"It's a good lead!" Vietnam insists. "We haven't seen France in what, three years? Then all of a sudden he just shows up in our restaurant! Tell me, Taiwan, how can that even begin to be a coincidence?"
"Who cares? We were given one job to do--and it didn't include you throwing yourself at him, again!"
"I don't throw myself at him," Vietnam snaps back. "And since when are you content to follow Ahn's every order without complaint? He sold our little brother, remember?"
"But if we finish up this job, he'll come back! If the objective is achieved, he'll bring Hong back, right?" There are soft tears in Taiwan's eyes as she screams at her sister, her voice breaking on the point of desperation. "He has to come back."
"Ahn's the one who gave him away in the first place," Vietnam grumbles. "And to Kirkland, of all people. And who's Kirkland's greatest rival, Wan?" Her voice drops, now, her tone becoming gentler.
Taiwan sniffs as she wipes her eyes. Suddenly, something clicks. "...France."
"Who better to help us get our brother back, than the man who lost everything to Kirkland? He certainly has the motivation to help us."
"And I bet you'll give him some more," Taiwan mutters under her breath. Outloud, she says, "It's a good idea, Jiejie, but I don't think you should do it. There's a reason you and me aren't leading this family; as much as I hate him sometimes, there's a reason Gege is. He loves Hong Kong, right. He wouldn't just give him away, unless there was a plan. What if we ruin it by meddling?"
"I'm done with betting on Ahn every time," Vietnam says quietly, but with passion. "And there's things I need to know."
Taiwan and Vietnam state at one another for a very long time. Finally, Taiwan sighs and rubs her hands together. "Fine, Jiejie--go. Do what you have to. But don't be rash--trust in Gege, at least for a little while. We'll keep an eye on France, and if something goes wrong, if we need him, we can always enact this later."
The smile Vietnam flashes at her sister is warm but cynical. "You're right. So just...stay here, ok? I'll be back soon."
As Vietnam runs out of the kitchen, her long tail of hair trailing behind her, Taiwan murmurs, "You'd better."
But as soon as her sister is gone, Taiwan reaches into the pocket of her skirt and extracts a thin, metallic pink cellphone. She gently taps out a message onto the keyboard, then hits SEND before she can think better of it.
WE'VE BEEN SEEING A LOT OF OLD FACES POPPING UP RECENTLY. BUT I HAVEN'T SEEN YOURS.
WHERE ARE YOU? CAN WE TALK? &hearts, FORMOSA.
- - -
When Vietnam first gets out onto the street, she's terrified that she's lost him. Still, a rather tall blonde man is not the hardest thing to find in Chinatown, so after a few minutes of frenzied searching, she spots him. Releasing all her breath at once, she wills her heart to beat a bit slower as she follows him. He seems to be taking his time: window shopping, chatting with passersby, staring up at the sky. She can't decide whether he's being cunning or just whimsical. Belatedly, she realizes she may have been wrong about him. What if, three years after devastating defeat, he's lost his edge? What if he won't be a savior, but a liability? But Vietnam pushes those thoughts away, because they lead nowhere. Right now, she has to take this chance, because it may not come again.
Lost in her own thoughts, she doesn't realize at first she's lost him. When she does, she freezes, looking wildly around her for any trace. "Shit."
"Such strong language," a gentle voice tuts from behind her. And before she can reach for her gun or even turn around, strong hands have grabbed both of her wrists and twisted them behind her back.
"I do believe you're out of practice, ma chère." France's face is low against hers, his lips close to her ear as she squirms in his grasp. "I've never known you to be so sloppy."
"Let go of me," Vietnam hisses at him. He does not oblidge her.
"You were following me, Vi, or did you forget that fact? I must admit, after having gone in cognito for so long, I don't appreciate this breach in my privacy."
"Then don't come to our restaurant with Italy, of all people!" As soon as the words leave her mouth, France clasps one hand over it. Both of her hands are now gripped tightly in one of his, and he has her so thoroughly held that when he begins to move, she has no choice but to go with him. Vietnam realizes that he's sliding her back into an alley, but there's nothing she can do about it. A cold anxiety grips her heart.
"I should have know the Ancient One would never leave that handhold of his. Foolish of me to go there--but noodles were the closest avaialble substitute for pasta." She can feel France shake his head ruefully.
When they're far back into the alley, he pushes her up against the wall, turning her to face him. His hands are cold and firm on her shoulders, and she feels as though she's falling into his deep blue eyes. They used to be so light, carefree; now they are opaque and shadowed, filled with things she'd rather not know about.
"Why?" she asks quietly, now that her mouth is free. "Why bring Italy into this, whatever it is?"
"Because I am one man going up against six families of trained spies and assassins," France snaps. "All my allies, all my family, were stolen away from me. And after three years of chewing on that, I've had enough."
"You two are the only ones not affiliated with any of this, anymore," Vietnam murmurs. "Why would you want to come back to it?"
"Because no matter how much I try, I can't forget how power tastes." France shakes his head ruefully. "I can't ignore that those who were once under by command are now serving him. And most of all I can't forgive that bastard, for everything he did to me, for everything he kept me from...for existing."
She's never heard so much hatred in his voice, before, and it scares her. Her face blanches, but she's frozen, impotent. "...just what are you planning, France?"
"Nothing I can tell you about, ma chère, not when you are so tied to that brother of yours."
"It's not like I had any other options," Vietnam tells him acidly. "Maybe I would have chosen differently, if I'd been given a choice."
"And for that, I am sorry," France murmurs. He leans close, releases his hold on her shoulders in order to cup her face in his hands. Her heart begins to beat very fast as he leans down and gently kisses her on the lips.
When he finally releases her--how long has it been? a lifetime--she squrims away from him, panting. "I-I'm sorry," she says, "I have to go."
Lost in her own emotions, she still steals a glance at him as she speeds away: hands lighting a cigarette, head tilted to the sky with ironic laughter.
- - -
There are still sincere tears running down Lithuania's cheeks when he finally makes it home. His footsteps echo eerily in the hollow passages as he makes his way down the long cooridor. Usually, he'd be making this journey with Poland, and the other man's loud, bland remarks and contagious laughter would reverberate off of the walls and fill the cooridor with life. Today, he is alone, and everything seems empty.
At the end of the hallway there is a young woman, her platinum blonde hair held back from her face with thick black ribbon, her hands clasped in front of her. When she spots him, she scowls, but when Lithuania paces her without comment or notice, her brow furrows in confusion. She follows him, holding him back with a hand on his shoulder.
"What happened?" She demands of him coldly, her voice like a knife. "Why is your lip bleeding? Where're Poland?"
But Lithuania can only shake his head as his body is wracked with sobs. The woman's eyes widen in alarm, and she takes a tentative step away from him.
"What happened?" she asks again.
Lithuania sniffs, wipes the tears from his eyes. "...we were ambushed," he says finally, his voice dead. "And Feliks...Feliks didn't get away."
"By whom?"
"...Austria, and Prussia and Switzerland."
"But those three...they would never work together." The new voice belongs to another woman, who steps out of one of the adjoining rooms looking very sad. She fingers her short, gray-blonde hair and gently wraps her arms around Lithuania. "Oh, Toris. I'm sure there was nothing you could do."
"If those three are working together," the first woman says, "then it means the Black Eagle is back."
Lithuania gently breaks away from the other woman's hug. "Yes. Natalya, Yekaterina...Germany's back. And he's made his first move."
"We must tell Brother immediately," Belarus says. And before Ukraine and Lithuania can even blink, she has dissapeared down the halls, her heels making hardly any sound.
"He...is not going to be happy," Lithuania murmurs. He sucks in his breath and smoothes down his hair. "I don't know how I let this happen."
"It's not your fault, Toris," Ukraine says.
"I let it happen," Lithuania insists, "Again! I let them take Feliks!"
Ukraine pauses, her mind awash with memories of a time when her brother wasn't their leader, but Lithuania and Poland were. She sighs heavily, extends her hand. "Come on. We have to report back."
And fifteen minutes later, when they are standing side by side with Belarus in front of a large oaken desk, their boss turns around in his swivel chair and regards them blandly through icy purple eyes.
"They will not get away with this," he promises cheerfully, his mouth smiling in a way that never reaches his eyes. "Someone will pay."
- - -
As Prussia walks down the street, he pauses, a sudden chill washing over him. It is gone just as quickly as it appeared, however, so he merely shakes his head and continues walking. Austria is a few paces in front of him, and now the other man stops and turns angrily on Prussia.
"I told you to stop following me," he says firmly. "Now, go away."
"No, I don't think I will," Prussia says obnoxiously, in a tone that indicates he rather wishes he could stick out his tongue.
"May I ask why you feel the need to follow me?"
"Just because West trusts you, doesn't mean I do."
Austria crosses his arms over his chest and gives Prussia a long, hard look. Behind his thin spectacles, his indigo eyes are smouldering. "Then it's too bad that you have no say in the matter, moron. If he trusts me, that's enough."
"Just know that I'm keeping an eye on you, priss," Prussia continues. "You may have everyone else fooled, but I know that you can't tolerate failure. And that's what you did. You failed, and West had to come back and pick up the pieces."
"Shut. Up." Austria keeps his voice steady, but there is so much bittnerness in it that Prussia backpeddals. The silver-haired man rolls his eyes, releases his breath in a huff.
"Do what you want, damn aristocrat. But if you're mistakes put my brother in danger again, rest assured that you'll never have to worry about failure again."
Prussia saunters off after that, the setting sun dyeing his hair almost orange as he slips his hands in his pockets and disappears amongst the buildings. Austria slumps for a moment, then turns around violently and slams his fist into a wall.
"...Roderich?" Suddenly, there are two delicate but firm hands on top of his, a woman removing his glove and gently examining the broken skin between his knuckles. "Why would you do that?"
He looks up, his cheeks red, as he meets Hungary's gaze. She is looking at him condemningly.
"I was frustrated," Austria replies mildly. And then, "I'm glad you came."
"It's the first message I've received from you in three years," she replies tartly. "How could I not?"
"I am so sorry," he says quietly. "You must believe that. I hadn't meant to leave you with him for so long."
"Don't appologize; I make my own decisions about my life. I'm sorry, Roderich, but I'm not waiting for you to save me."
"Then...?"
She shakes her head. "I don't want to talk about it right now. It's a beautiful evening, and there's a table waiting for us at the restaurant. I just want to be with you."
So he smiles softly, and wraps one arm around her shoulders, and leads her away.
And Prussia, peeking out from two buildings down, stares at their retreating backs with disbelief and malice in his blood red eyes.
- - -