Past-Part Fills Post 1 -- CLOSED
Thanks to anon's suggestions we are now enforcing a past-part fills post
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He'd decided to make the most of it, starting by ignoring them.
"So, this Tony guy," Gilbert said.
"Big Tony," Lovino amended offhandedly. He cursed a moment later; he was supposed to be ignoring the idiots, and that meant ignoring their stupid questions, too.
"Right, Big Tony. He a relative or something?"
Lovino kept his mouth shut.
"Your uncle, perhaps?" Francis suggested.
Antonio laughed. "Oh, I know! He's a cousin, right?"
He could feel his blood pressure rising. "No, he's not a relative!" Lovino snapped, glaring at the trio, or Antonio. Mostly Antonio. "He's not my uncle, and he's not my goddamn cousin. He's just a friend of the family!"
"Oh," Gilbert concluded. "He's mafia. So that name he called you-Romano? Is that your mafia name?"
Lovino stomped away to the far corner of the basement, searching his bags for headphones or anything that he could use to tune the morons out for the duration of the day, if not the duration of the stay.
--
"Absolutely not," Alfred had said. "You're not coming. I'm a federal agent, Arthur; I can't just bring a civilian with me while I chase criminals."
That's what he'd said, at least. And he'd thought Arthur had understood, up until five minutes ago, when he realized that the Englishman was in the same café that he'd stopped at to catch a bite, over two hundred miles from where they'd talked that morning.
Apparently Arthur hadn't understood after all.
"What are you doing here?" Alfred hissed, glaring over the back of the seat at the man who was settled into the booth behind him.
"Having a nice cup of tea," Arthur responded, stirring said tea before lifting the cup to his lips. "What does it look like I'm doing?"
"It looks like you're following me," Alfred shot back. "I meant it when I said I couldn't bring you with me, Arthur."
"You didn't bring me," Arthur said, placing his cup back on its saucer before glancing at Alfred. "I just happened to be going in the same direction as you."
"Bullshit."
"I-it has nothing to do with you, git!" Arthur huffed, his composure faltering in his hurry to explain. "I'm not following you, so don't misunderstand!"
Alfred frowned. "You have no idea what you're getting into, Arthur."
"I'm not getting into anything! I'm just out for a nice, leisurely drive and a cup of tea."
Really, Alfred should have expected the constant stream of denials the moment he noticed Arthur was there. Arguing with the Brit had always been a bit like talking to a brick wall… only the brick wall wouldn't have tried to claim that it was neither a wall nor made of brick.
"And even if I were here because of you-which I am not-I'm not sure why you're making such a fuss about it," Arthur continued. "The way you're reacting, I'd almost say you're worried I'll catch your thieves first."
Alfred rose from his seat in a heartbeat, banging a fist against the table. "I am not!"
Slowly and deliberately, one of Arthur's (massive) eyebrows quirked upward. "Aren't you?"
"No!" he said, loudly enough that (especially after his outburst a moment ago) the entire café was staring at him. He swallowed, and then smiled sweetly. "Of course not. I'm just worried about an old man like you being in danger."
Arthur's cheeks were turning red. "W-would you look at the time?" he said hurriedly, fetching a few bills from his wallet. "I'd best be going."
As Arthur left the café, Alfred popped the last of his fries into his mouth and smiled. It tasted like victory.
It wasn't until long after he'd finished lunch that he realized that the game wasn't over. In fact, it had only just begun.
There on the freeway, not the length of five cars in front of him, was a Mini with a bullet hole in its bumper.
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If it hadn't been for the fact that he'd sworn on his grandfather's grave that he'd never let himself get drawn into the mafia business, by the end of the first full day cooped up in the basement Lovino would have gladly murdered someone. His only reprieve from idiocy had been when Big Tony asked him to help in the kitchen, but then Antonio had come along and offered to help as well.
Francis and Gilbert had stayed in the basement, and Lovino tried not to think about what they might be up to. He just hoped Big Tony didn't keep anything dangerous (or illegal) down there.
"Lovi, you never actually answered," Antonio said as he carefully cut a tomato in slow, smooth motions. "Why did Big Tony call you 'Romano'?"
He was tired. Tired, and worn out from the day, and it just wasn't worth yelling at Antonio (again) that it wasn't his business, because the Spaniard was too dense to comprehend that he didn't want to talk about it anyway. That was his story, at least, and he was sticking to it.
"It's what Gramps used to call me," he admitted, staring at the sauce he was stirring. "I was Romano, and my brother was Veneziano. But ever since he bit it, only the old friends of the family still call us that."
"Oh," Antonio said. "Do you miss him?"
"Sometimes," was Lovino's answer.
…Or that's what Lovino's answer would have been, if it hadn't been for the sudden noise that had erupted outside the kitchen then. It sounded suspiciously like a table had been upturned, complete with shattering glasses and plates.
"You two: basement, now!" Big Tony roared, bursting into the kitchen a second later. "If the cops show up, I don't want them anywhere near one of Rome's boys! Spic, you'd better protect Romano with your goddamn life."
Lovino acted on reflex, starting to yell that he could protect himself, dammit!, only to be shocked into silence by the unusually serious look on Antonio's face as he clamped a hand on his shoulder. By the time he'd gathered his wits back together, they were already halfway down the stairs, and Gilbert was charging past them, chanting something that sounded suspiciously like "Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!"
He wondered what he'd ever done to deserve this.
…Other than participate in a robbery, of course.
--
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Apparently the agent had forgotten that Arthur still had a key for "Old Reliable," or he'd never have let the files out of his sight.
He flipped through the pages quickly, studying them with narrowed eyes. It seemed there were three important facts to the case, but Arthur was less concerned with identifying the robbers involved as the serial perpetrators than he was with the timing of it all. Alfred had only been undercover on this case since last year, but he'd disappeared from Arthur's life nearly three years ago…
The file said nothing, unfortunately, about what Alfred had been doing other than his year undercover, and even that was vague and mostly full of mundane details about his fellow employees at the bank and frequent or noteworthy customers. Even if he'd been assigned to the case since the first time the "Venetian Robbers" had struck-he checked the file again-two years ago, where had he been? Why hadn't he come back?
And that was to say nothing of the case itself. Codenames, masks and military dress, a terrible getaway driver… Why in God's name had the robbers stolen his car this time and then abandon it, anyway? He didn't even live in the same town as the bank they'd robbed!
The familiar sound of an engine on the verge of death caught Arthur's attention, and he tossed the file into the front passenger seat. Alfred had finally caught up to him, and it was time to let him know that he wouldn't be rid of Arthur Kirkland so easily.
If he hadn't been so focused on showing Alfred up, perhaps he would have noticed a particular pair of pictures on the last page of Alfred's notes: one "Francis Bonnefoy," who had been barred from entering the bank ever again, and one "Antonio Fernandez Carriedo," a friendly young man who had gotten to know everyone but didn't have an account.
If he'd seen them, perhaps one of his questions would have been answered.
Notes:
Apologies for the wait, language, and the general lack of the bad friends in this update. Next chapter should readjust the focus back to the trio!
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Oh ho, I like the way where this is going, anon. And I'm loving the tiny Spain/Romano hints that keep showing up.
Keep up the brilliant work. o;
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More soon, please? :D
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Stalker Arthur = love
update = love
re captcha: $60,000 hussars (?!)
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