Wandering the alleyways of New York City, there is a man you don't want to meet. Or maybe you do. It really depends on what you're looking for. If you have someone you want to get rid of, he's the man for the job. He doesn't have a set office, so tracking him down can be a bit difficult, but you'll find that his services more than make up for that. He never leaves a trace. He's very careful with his work. Very precise. With him, it all looks like an accident. Maybe the target was suddenly struck by a falling tree limb while on a walk through Central Park. Of course, it's just as possible for them to be out drinking alone one night and never be heard from again. It's all the same.

He's normally found working against organized crime, bringing down leaders and successors for his modest price. Modest because he likes his line of work. It makes him feel like he's doing something for society, like he's the one protecting citizens from the mugging, raping, and drive-by shooting by getting rid of the ones who do it. Even though he's been working like this for three years, there hasn't been much of a decrease in crime, but he still does it. The police force would probably like a young man with such a passion for justice like himself, but with his current track record, he would likely be the one getting locked behind bars for life.

Yes, he likes his job. His freelance job. Different clients every week, and no repeat customers. That's a rule of his. Couldn't have anyone getting too close, now, could he? Nobody even knows his real name.

They just call him America.

Right now, he was on the hunt for a man named Arthur Kirkland. He wasn't on America's list (He has one, you know. It's constantly being updated when when a new organization appears or disappears), so he couldn't be that large of a threat, but his client wanted him dead, so clearly he was trouble. He only armed himself with a knife, thinking this would be an easy job.

How terribly wrong he was.

America caught a glimpse of the messy blonde mop of hair that had just stooped into an alley. Target sighted. He didn't run in after him immediately, as that would raise suspicions, especially right now since it was nighttime with only a few others out and about. He was all too aware of the shop security cameras that lined the streets as well. He would have to take a back way into that particular alley. It would take longer, but in the end it would cleaner and more difficult to trace him. He raised the collar on his telltale leather bomber jacket and maneuvered through the labyrinth that was New York City in search of the alleyway Arthur would be in.

His breathing was kept steady despite the plan for the grim deed he was about to do running through his head. America did have a conscience, believe it or not. It was just far suppressed in the back of his mind after three years of killing people. He still got a faint feeling of guilt when he went after someone who looked innocent. This Arthur Kirkland was no exception. Something sick twisted in America's gut as he silently snuck up behind the big-browed man.

Suddenly, Arthur turned around, catching America off-guard. By instinct, he widened his stance and twitched his hand towards the knife hidden in his pocket, but didn't take it out yet. He might not need it.

The feeling in America's stomach intensified when he saw how innocent the man looked in real life. He had deep emerald-colored eyes with tired bags underneath (and, of course, those huge eyebrows that made it so easy for him to be found). His face showed an expression of resignation, and his shoulders were slumped. The two just looked at each other for a moment, before Arthur broke the silence.

"So… You're the famed America I've heard so much about." He smiled. "What's with the hesitation? By all means, I should be dead by now. I'll admit it; you don't look like the type to be in this line of work. How old are you, lad?"

America opened his mouth to answer, but stopped himself before any sound got out. "Heh, that's not any of your business, is it?" He took a small step forward; Arthur didn't back down. "I could say the same for you. What could you have possibly done to make someone want you dead?"

"Why do you want to know? It's not that bloody important, is it? I'm not spilling my life story to the man who's going to kill me. Just do it already! What, do you need a reason? Have a soul, do you?"

America didn't answer. This was dragging on for too long He whipped the knife out, brandishing it in front of him. A slight glimmer of fear lit up Arthur's eyes when he saw the weapon. The twisting in his gut came back, but he forced it down.

"This has gone on long enough, hah?" America took another step closer. Arthur still didn't retreat. He reached forward and grabbed Arthur by his left arm, pressing the knife dangerously against the man's neck, creating a slim cut where blood began to bead and run down his throat. He didn't even struggle. America looked Arthur straight in the eye. "Have any last words?"

Arthur closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "... Yeah... Yeah, I do."

Click.

America's breath caught, eyes widening in surprise and terror. Something cold pressed against his left temple, and he knew exactly what it was. He dared to peek out of the corner of his eye to confirm his suspicions.

It was a sleek, black pistol.

'How the hell did he draw that so quietly?' America thought. 'That sneaky son of a—'

"There. That evens the playing field a bit, doesn't it? Though I think I remember a saying... how did it go...?" Arthur grinned smugly. America scowled. "'Never bring a knife to a gun fight?' That sounds about right."

"You bastard!" America spat out. Arthur frowned and tutted at him.

"Ah, ah, ah, I don't think you're in any position for name-calling, America. You're forgetting who has the upper hand here." The grin came back, and Arthur pressed the gun more firmly against America's head. "Now, why don't we let go of that silly little knife, hmm?"

America complied after a moment of hesitation. He reluctantly lowered the knife from his target's throat. He couldn't believe that he'd been so careless as to get in this situation. It was obvious that this man was more dangerous than his appearance let on. He should have come with more than just a knife, but how could he have expected this man of all people to be able to turn the tables on him?

"Drop it."

There was a lonely clatter as the knife hit the ground. Arthur kept smiling.

"Good boy." The armed man kicked the knife far enough away so that America couldn't dive for it. Even if he tried, he would probably end up with a bullet through his head. "I knew you could be civil. We can talk like gentlemen, can't we, Alfred?"

"How do you know my name?"

"Oh, I know a lot about you, Jones. I know all about your little hero complex. I know your clients, I know your victims, I know your price. You've got quite a high bounty on your head, don't you?"

"Is that why you're here? You just wanted me dead? Why go through the effort of learning everything about me? Why not just kill me now?."

Arthur's grin faded. "I never said I wanted you dead. What made you think that?"

"You've got a gun pointed at my head." Alfred deadpanned. Arthur sighed.

"So I do, but merely in self-defense. I wouldn't have gotten this far if you had slit my throat just then. It seems it was a good thing I brought it. It's pretty useful..." Arthur curled his finger around the trigger and pulled. Alfred flinched as a deafening shot rang through the air. But... nothing else happened. A bullet didn't launch from the gun and lodge itself in the assassin's brain. Alfred stared in confusion.

"... even if it's loaded with blanks." Arthur threw the gun to the ground. "I'm not here to kill you. I'm here to make a deal."

"Like hell I'll do that!"

"I don't think you would have said that if you were still at gunpoint... I really do think it will benefit all three of us."

Alfred was about to shoot another insult when he froze. "... Did you say three?" he asked, incredulous. "Who else is there?"

Arthur gave him a knowing look. "I think you know who. I suppose if you're called 'America,' then he would be... 'Canada,' am I correct?"

Anger flared up in Alfred's eyes when he realized who Arthur was talking about. "No. I'm not dragging him into this!"

"Ah, but you already have, haven't you?" That smirk was back. Arthur was taking control. But then Alfred wondered if he ever wasn't in control. "You got him involved in your little game of superhero, and now he's paying the price."

"No! That's not true!"

"It is, and you know it! Your poor little brother is suffering because of a mistake on your part."

"Shut up! It's not like you can do anything about it!"

"But I can. That's the beauty of this deal, Alfred." Arthur's eyes gleamed with victory. He knew that he'd already won. "Unlike you, I have contacts. I can get your precious Canada the treatment he needs. I can also teach you skills that you, as an assassin, are desperately lacking. Skills that could have prevented this meeting in the first place."

"Sorry, but I'm not looking for a mentor at the moment." Alfred's gaze flickered over to where his knife lay in the alley. If he could just dive for it, he might have a chance...

Arthur sighed and twisted his arm around, releasing himself from Alfred's grip and pinning his hand behind his back in the process. "Honestly, don't even try."

"What do you want?" Alfred growled.

"In exchange for my services… I only ask that you be my partner."

Alfred snickered. "Pfft, sorry dude, I don't swing that way."

"Get your mind out of the gutter, please! I didn't mean it like that!" Arthur corrected. "I meant that I see some potential in you, Jones. You have the makings of a great assassin, but you've never been properly trained, have you? If you let me teach you, we could be a great team, you know. It's not safe or smart to be alone in this type of work."

Alfred didn't say anything for a while. He thought over his situation seriously. His own victim had overpowered him, though he'd figured out by now that he'd been set up. This was dangerous territory he was walking on, even though the pros almost outweighed the cons. With this man, he could get his brother medical attention. He could become better at what he did with training, or so the man claimed. Arthur was right about it being more dangerous alone, too. It seemed like everything about the offer was in his favor. However... There was still the fear of the unknown. Who exactly was this man? Why did he want him of all people? How was he benefiting from this agreement? Everything seemed rather shifty...

But what other options did he have?

"... Fine." Alfred said begrudgingly. "I'll... work with you."

"Excellent." Alfred could hear the smile in his voice.

"You have to keep up your part of the deal, though!"

"But of course," Arthur said, releasing Alfred and turning him around so they were looking at each other. "'Canada' will receive the best medical attention at my disposal. A gentleman never goes back on his word. With that said," He was suddenly very serious and leaned in close to his face to get his point across. "If you fail to uphold your side of this agreement, I will not hesitate to kill you. Do I make myself clear, mister Jones?"

Alfred gulped and nodded. "Crystal... sir."

"Good." Arthur leaned back and extended his hand, smiling. Alfred shook it. "Then I do believe we have a deal. Go home and get some rest. Meet me here tomorrow evening. We'll begin then."

With that, he finally released Alfred, who bolted out of the alley as fast as he could. He forgot his knife, but he didn't care. He sprinted down the sidewalk and didn't look back.

When he finally got home to his beaten up apartment, he fell to the floor on his hands and knees. The carpet was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world, since he couldn't take his eyes off of it. His heart raced at a hundred miles a minute, the shock from his encounter finally setting in.

He could have died tonight.

The words echoed in his head. He always told himself that he could die on any assignment, but this was the closest he'd ever gotten to it actually happening.

He could have died. But he didn't. He didn't know if he should thank Arthur for not killing him or hate him for making the threat in the first place. The pity for the man that had once twisted in his gut was long gone, replaced by nervousness, excitement, and fear. So much fear. He never wanted to see that man again, but then it sunk in that he had agreed to meet him the next day. He was breaking his own rule: no repeat clients. Don't get close to anyone. Never let anyone know who you are. But it became clear to Alfred that that wouldn't be the case with Arthur.

They would get to know each other quite well over the years to come, that he was sure of.

And how correct he was.

AN: Mwahahaha, I am so sidetracked... This idea would NOT leave me alone, though! I apologize to people still waiting for Vocaloid. That will be the next update, I promise.

I'm not sure if I should make this a romance or even continue. The idea is there, but the motivation isn't. We'll just see.

Thanks for reading! Please leave a review and let me know if you like it! Constructive criticism!

~Jel