Chapter 4 – Fake Tales of San Francisco

Fully intending to struggle for his life, Arthur reached around to deliver a swift blow to the stranger behind him. However, he wasn't exactly known for his amazing coordination or physical prowess and, luckily for his captor, he wound up swinging just a little too far to the left and toppling over into a trashcan nearby as a result.

"You are worst captive ever, aru!"

The harsh-sounding whisper caused Arthur's eyes to widen in surprise, but Yao's hand remained firmly clamped over his mouth in order to keep any noise from leaking out. That didn't stop his aggravated squirming, however, which only drew another exasperated sigh from the Chinese man.

"You are wondering why I have had to sneak up on you, yes?" He took the pause in squirming as a 'yes'. "Noisy Arthur would have given our position away otherwise."

…Well. It wasn't like he could contest that, seeing as he still made a fair amount of noise even without the use of his voice.

"You be quiet now, yes?" A nod, and Yao let his hand slip away. Arthur tilted his head back to get a better view of his strange companion, who was staring out towards the building as well. "What are you even doing out here at this hour?"

Returning the stare evenly, the slender man gave a somewhat lopsided shrug. "Business."

As close as Arthur, Alfred and (god forbid) Francis were, Yao and Ivan had always floated on the outer rim of their miniature organisation. Plans were shared between the five, yes, and they had some semblance of a trust system between them, but generally speaking the latter two kept between themselves and the former three did the same.

It was because of this silent divide that just the barest hints of suspicion were able to root themselves beneath the trust – something that rarely showed in day-to-day life but presented itself all too clearly when things like this happened. Who the hell snuck around in the early morning hours?

Outside of himself.

And Alfred.

Maybe he had less of a point than he originally thought, but that didn't keep the suspicion from passing over his face before being replaced with a forced neutrality. Now wasn't the time to get into things like that.

"Right then, does this business of yours require getting past those militant buffoons? Because I have a bit of business there myself."

A curt nod, and with a flourish of his hand Yao indicated a grate just to their left. "Sitting on answer, aru. Very poor recon skills!"

Biting his tongue against the insults for the time being, Arthur reached over and flipped the metal up, finding it surprisingly easy to move despite the thickness of the bars. "Pf… You've used this before, haven't you?" As if the missing anchor bolts weren't enough of a dead giveaway.

Instead of answering, Yao slipped through the opening, vanishing into the dank underground with a soft thud of boot on pavement. With a sigh, Arthur followed suit. He could only pray that Yao knew what the hell he was doing, and that those lights flashing ominously overhead would stay overhead.

--

Karl's hand rose to his brow, shielding his squinting eyes from the painful rays of light from above. He loved the warm weather as much as anyone else, really, but going from an overcast chill to a breezy brightness was jarring for anyone. He wished he had the mind to bring his sunglasses with him.

"Not that they would allow that," he muttered, shoe scuffing against the gum-spattered pavement under foot.

The Solidite schools that he hated so much were way too stifling. The government knew that rebellion started through the freedom of expression, and thusly did everything in its vast amount of power to squelch any of that sort of thing underfoot at an early age. Ever since he could remember, street clothing had been forbidden within the school grounds. There was a strict dress code to follow and anybody who broke it was dealt swift and harsh punishment; everything from detention to suspension (which always seemed like more of a blessing than a punishment to him) to phone calls home.

At one point, he had even heard rumors of a special place that repeat offenders went to. Taken from the detention centre by those militant vans, brought back later with a new respect for the dress code.

He paused in his steps momentarily before letting his feet begin to carry him again, mind far away. Those vans.

Everyone knew about the vans that patrolled the streets, and everyone had heard about the occasional disappearances, but nobody talked about it more than they had to. The thought alone sent a shiver down his spine. As much as he talked about small rebellions and not going to school, there was a deep fear ingrained in him, much like many other citizens. To know that your government had the ability to wipe you off the map was a somber thought.

To know that your government had the ability to wipe your parents off the map…

Another pause in his walking as he raised his arm, pressing it against his eyes to keep the sun out and keep the sudden stinging sensation at bay. Strange. He figured he had gotten over this.

Falling back on the breathing exercises his old psychologist had taught him, he concentrated on the pull and push of air through his lungs and on the even thump-thump of his feet against the pavement, trying for all his worth to keep himself going in as much of a straight line as he possibly could without running into anything.

Thankfully he couldn't feel the onset of any panic attacks this time, and he would have sighed in relief if his concentration on breath movement had been less.

"--Ah, mon ami!"

Choking on his inhale, the boy was jolted back into awareness. His gaze tore away from the even pavement underfoot, searching for the source of the voice. Before he could actually pinpoint who was talking, however, he realised one thing was very off.

He had absolutely no idea where the hell he was.

"Uh…" Glancing down at the tarnished silver wristwatch his father had given him, his eyes went wide. Had he really been wandering for over an hour? Oh man, Remy was going to kill him. What little civilian police force remained would have to scrape him off of the wall by the time his older brother was done with him. And after he had actually promised to go to school! This time he had meant it. Sort of.

"Shall I repeat the question, mon ami? You seem quite lost," the stranger stated (again, apparently), taking a tentative step forward and interrupting the silver-headed boy from his internal monologue for a second time.

"Huh?" Lost? Yeah. Yeah, he was. But would it be all right to mention that? He gave the stranger a once-over, taking up a stance that screamed he was ready to run, kick and pull out the pepper spray if he needed to. "I might be."

He mentally facepalmed at the tone he accidentally used; he was trying to go for a mysterious, flippant sort of thing, but instead wound up sounding like a brain addled middle schooler. 'Real smooth, Karl. Real smooth.' Thankfully, the elder male seemed to pay no mind and clapped a hand on his shoulder in an overly-friendly manner, causing the other to jump a bit and wonder how he had managed to close the space between them so quickly.

"It is not a good thing to be lost in this sort of area. You wouldn't want to run into anything dangerous, non?" Despite the overly-friendly mannerisms and almost-too-big grin, Karl found himself nodding the faintest bit in agreement. Something told him he wouldn't have to worry about a physical attack from his man. Molestation, maybe, but not an attack.

"If you could just show me back to the main road, then. I'm going to be marked absent and Remy—" He paused mid-sentence, taking another breath of air in. It was just the barest hint that he had caught while talking, but it was there nonetheless.

"Alcohol."

Most people would have shot a paranoid glance over their shoulder, speaking a word like that in public. He half expected to have a hand slapped over his mouth or something of that sort, but the strange man simply rubbed his stubbled chin, smile wide as ever. "Château Lafite Rothschild, directly imported!" An overdramatic sigh followed soon after. "A shame we only have one bottle per month. Mon dieu, what I wouldn't give for some decent wine!"

This should have been enough to send him running. It should have pinged all of the little warning flags that his terrible school had spent so many years drilling into his brain. But instead, he could feel a matching smile start to grow on his face as well.

He had been looking for rebellion, and rebellion had found him instead.

Noticing the smile, Francis arched a brow. "Something amusing?" He was answered with a shrug, and though the smile had faded it was still somewhat visible. "…Yeah, something like that."

There was the briefest of pauses for debates on both ends before Karl spoke up again, deciding it was high time he grab life by the horns. Definitely not because Remy had already gotten a head start or something like that. That wasn't the reason at all.

"Hey—" "Would you like to come back to the shop with me?" Karl blinked, a bit startled by being interrupted yet again (this strange man seemed to have a penchant for doing that). "To the shop?" He received a nod in response, and the man swept his arm out in a grandiose gesture towards the winding sideroads and alleys that stretched out before them in lieu of the sidewalk they were currently standing on. "I have a very good intuition! It is because of my glorious judgment skills that our team has been able to come so far, and you," he paused, pressing a finger against Karl's shoulder, "-seem to be the perfect candidate!"

The smile that had flitted away returned briefly, and without any hesitation at all he gave a nod of agreement. He had no idea what the hell was going on and if Remy found out he was tagging along with shady strangers in back alleys he would probably be doubly-killed, but he could feel in his bones that this was something big. Something really big, and something he definitely wanted to be a part of.

"Good, good! Allez, viens! Let us move then. It is unwise to loiter in this area."

--

"If little Alfred does not stop pacing, is going to sand floorboards away."

The bartender in question stopped in his tracks before absent-mindedly staring behind him. Sure enough, the rough floor was surprisingly smooth in the area he had been repeatedly treading over since the bar opened at eight in the morning.

A frustrated sigh followed, and though he wanted to keep moving he reluctantly hopped onto one of the stools behind the counter. "I can't help it, damnit." Raising a hand, he ruffled his hair in an irritated fashion before fixing his glasses out of nervous habit. The building itself was empty save himself, Ivan and a regular customer sitting in the corner to enjoy a sopping greasy bar breakfast, which was about the only saving grace that the morning had to offer.

First of all, Alfred was running on absolutely no sleep. No matter how many times he had called Arthur's house and cell phone, nobody picked up. He had maintained a phone vigil throughout the night and still no familiar number, though he had nearly jumped out of his skin when his landlord called in the early morning to remind him of rent.

And then? Then the most heinously annoying member of their little team had to be the very first person to show up, demanding his morning vodka and not seeming ruffled in the least when a very distraught Alfred had explained their MIA co-worker. 'Is going to be fine, da? Little comrade has head filled with hot air, could not be hurt by enemy if they tried!'

For some reason, that was less reassuring than Ivan had made it out to sound.

"Look, just because you can sit here and not worry about Yao at all doesn't mean I can't not worry about Arthur. Have you ever seen him attempt anything even remotely secretive?" Going by the snicker that echoed from the vodka mug, he was going to assume that was a yes and slapped a hand over his forehead. "Damnit… I knew we shouldn't have split up."

For the second day in a row, the door was thrown back with vigor and another rain of paper and posters joined the scatter that nobody had picked up off of the floor. Alfred jolted upright, anxiety clear on his face before he realised who it was.

"Could you open the door like a normal human being?"

"Non! I cannot be expected to deprive any audience of the full energy of my entrance!" The blonde flounced into the shop and it was then that the two seated at the counter realised he wasn't alone. "Francis! What have I said about hitting on minors?"

Deadpanning at the statement, Karl's gaze rose to the man who had led him to this strange underground place. He'd been right about that, then.

"You are mistaken, ma cher! Today was a day for recruiting, not for amour!" Though that never entirely took a back seat for him, and he was already planning a second excursion out on the town.

Before he could so much as open his mouth to introduce himself, he was pulled forward by the elbow and deposited neatly in front of the bar counter, where the flamboyant recruiter settled himself on one of the barstools. "Sit, sit! We have much to discuss—" "Karl." Finishing the sentence and introducing himself all in one go, he set himself carefully on the edge of another stool, gaze rising momentarily to the rows of glass bottles lined up behind the counter. The thrill of doing something so blatantly against the rules sent a trill of energy shooting down his spine – way more than enough to counteract the worry in the pit of his stomach.

Mistaking the stare as something else, Alfred patted the counter and shook his head a bit. "Sorry kid, you're way too young for any actual drinking." Pulling himself into a straighter posture, Karl huffed indignantly. "I'm not that young. And I'm not here for drinking anyway." Truth be told, he thought the stuff smelt absolutely rotten and didn't even want to imagine how that sort of thing might taste.

The man who had guided him there, Francis, shrugged in reply before reaching out to snag a bottle that the bespectacled bartender had purposely left out on the counter, whilst ignoring the 'we need to talk about this kid what the hell were you thinking' look that Alfred was sending him. "Suit yourself." He paused after uncorking the top to reach over and nab a wine glass, only then noticing that their ranks were a bit low that morning.

He wordlessly passed the bartender a questioning stare, worry momentarily creasing his brow when the other blonde glanced away. His gaze then drifted to Ivan, who simply shrugged, that constant smile still slapped on his face before it was obscured by the mouth of his jug again.

There was a moment or two of awkward silence in which Karl shifted awkwardly in his seat (angling away from Francis) and two of the remaining three stared wordlessly at the empty bar seats. "…You don't think…"

"Nah."

"He is not the best for quiet escapes."

"He's fine."

Sighing, the Frenchman shrugged and poured himself a glass, swirling the potent liquid around before taking a sip. Really, Alfred had too much faith in his ex. Way too much. Before he could actually voice that, a massive crash resounded from the back room, followed by a rather loud 'AIYAAA' and equally loud 'BLOODY HELL'. In about as many seconds, Alfred had thrown his bar towel at Ivan's face in his mad dash to get to the source of the sound.

There in the back of the shop was a rather massive pile of empty recycle bins, bottle caps, and a rather disgruntled and dirty-looking pair of government fighters. "If I had known this led here I wouldn't have stacked the bloody bins over it," Arthur growled, rubbing a grimy hand against his equally dirt-covered forehead as Yao attempting to extract himself from the pile of rubbish as gracefully as he possibly could.

"You--!" Reaching forward as though to help the shorter male up, Alfred switched the outstretched palm to a balled fist at the last minute and gave the Englishman a sound bat upside the head, earning himself a scowl and a punch to the knee in response. Instead of flinching, he simply slapped a palm over his face, trying to even his breathing. "Next time, we leave together. Got it?"

Huffing and pushing himself upright, the shorter of the two waved a hand. "Sod off, would you? I made it back." Suddenly the irritation melted away from his face, leaving a somewhat devious smile in its place. "Not only did I make it back, but I made it back with this," he extracted the paper from his pocket, placing it back in Arthur's hands. "And this." His hand dipped back into his pocket again, this time withdrawing a small bit of laminated plastic.

A collective "…" occurred between the group, including Karl who had been lurking at the edge the entire mini-reunion.

"…Are you serious? Are they really that inattentive?"

Arthur flipped the Solidite ID card around in his fingers, watching with a smile as the overhead light reflected off of the plastic. "Apparently so. Either that or I'm just amazingly lucky." He ignored Yao's eye-rolling, holding the card overhead as Alfred reached over to snatch it.

An increasing interest stirred within the outsider, his gaze fixed on the frowning face on the card. These people… He had figured they would be all talk, one of those 'rebel groups' that he saw in school. But they actually had a plan. They actually had something solid enough to get through all of those closed doors, both metaphorically and now literally. A small smile grew on his face.

He would make Remy proud.

--

A/n: I'm really sorry for the lateness AGAIN. Of course my schedule would start picking up when I'm trying to write. Thanks again for bearing with me, reading and reviewing!