DISCLAIMER: Hetalia: Axis Powers – Hidekaz Himaruya

FAMOUS FIRST WORDS

SIXTEEN

EMIL

Emil stepped out of the steamy en suite into his bedroom, warm from his long evening bath, and wearing only a snow-white robe over his snow-white skin, flushed pink from the heat and beaded with water. As much as he enjoyed the fjords, Norway wasn't home. This was home: this, his private three-room apartment in the building that was more a lavish fortress than a house, and he was happy to be back. The Norwegian manor was nice, but it had an unnerving effect on his brother whenever they returned to it, and, though he and Mikkel tried to hide it, Emil knew that Bjørn suffered nightmares in and of that faraway place. But here, they were safe. And if anyone was experiencing night-terrors just then, Emil could rest assured that it wasn't he or Bjørn.

Self-assured was a good word to describe Emil Thomassen. He hummed softly to himself as he towel-dried his silvery hair, unbothered and unafraid, and thinking of nothing but the crime drama waiting for him on television—

—until he looked up and started at the sight of a black-haired, black-eyed boy sitting cross-legged on his bed.

"Ah, fuck!" he cursed in surprise, dropping the towel.

Li's lips curled into a toothy grin. "Evening, Snowflake," he nodded with lazy arrogance. "Have a nice bath?"

Emil retrieved the towel and whipped it at Li in reply. The Chinese boy sniggered.

"What the fuck are you doing in here? How are you in here?" Emil worried, casting a nervous glance at the door.

"Relax, no one saw me. I'm on a job," Li reported, standing. "I'm playing messenger again for Braginsky. I've got a letter for Densen."

Emil crossed his arms. "I'm told the resemblance is uncanny," he said in flat sarcasm," but you do know that I'm not Mikkel, right?"

Li's dark eyes twinkled as he searched his pockets. Emil watched in surmounting tedium and trepidation as the other boy shook our his jacket pockets, then patted his jeans. He muttered in a dialect Emil didn't know, and yet his words—his tone—were not hard to decipher. The spoiled, impatient Icelander began tapping his fingers, then his foot in irritation, egging Li on when he glanced up in flustered apology.

"Ah ha!" he cried victoriously, ripping a small envelope from his inner breast-pocket. Why he hadn't stored it in the messenger-bag slung across his torso, Emil didn't know. "Here it is!"

"Shhh!" Emil whispered harshly. "Do you have a death-wish, or what? Do you have any idea what Mikkel will do to you if he finds you in here?" he snapped, taking the letter.

Li rolled his eyes. "Relax, Snowflake," he repeated, puffing-up his chest. "I'm careful."

"You're going to get yourself killed," Emil said, his blasé tone hitched at the end, revealing his concern. "Why bother with the theatrics? Why not just give this"—he waved the letter—"to Mikkel directly? We have a front door, you know. And a fucking post-box at the gate."

"Because Mikkel Densen scares the piss out of me," Li admitted, shrugging.

"Besides," he added, awkwardly shifting his feet, then his gaze, "I wanted to see you again."

Emil had always been a pretty boy accustomed to compliments and propositions, but there was something in Li's eyes and clumsy self-consciousness that made him blush at the comment. There was an innocent honestly in the Chinese boy that Emil appreciated; an inexperience he related to; and a sweetness and attentiveness so free of ulterior motives that it made his insides flutter with nerves.

Butterflies—fuck.

"O-oh," he stuttered, a moment later. Not a loquacious reply, nor the one Li was hoping for, but Emil was at a loss.

He wanted to see—me?

Not Mikkel, not Bjørn. Me.

"But it's dangerous," he said, trying to emulate his brother's aloofness. He crossed his arms, which pulled at his robe, accidentally drawing attention to his state of undress. Li's gaze drooped reflexively, then darted back up, afraid of being caught. "If Mikkel finds you..." Emil said again, slower. He let the threat linger.

"Worth the risk," Li shrugged. His voice was husky, and his dark eyes held all of the warmth and richness of roasted coffee. Emil found it comforting.

In the soft, yellow bedroom light, Li's smooth skin glowed like caramel. Emil found that—distracting.

He blinked, blushing redder.

"Maybe one day we'll meet and I'll be wearing actual clothes," he blurted before he could reconsider the joke.

Li pressed his lips together, his posture rigid. "So, um... did you... beat the game?" he asked forcefully, nearly breaking in an effort to sound casual.

"Oh, yeah!" Emil leapt at the change-of-topic. "I started the sequel. Have you—"

He stopped abruptly. A tiny, heart-shaped black nose was protruding from Li's messenger-bag, wiggling as it sniffed.

"What is that?"

"Huh? Ah! Oh—nothing!" Li quickly pulled the cover-flap closed, but not before a fluffy little head poked out the side.

"Do you have a dog in your bag?" Emil asked incredulously.

"Um, no. I have three," Li said sheepishly as he gently pulled out three Shih Tzu puppies, which, collectively, fit into the cradle of his arm.

Emil pursed his lips. The puppies looked like white-and-brindle fluffs, like squirming little powder-balls with wiggling black noses and darting, glassy eyes, expressions rendered quizzical by wisps of eyebrow-like face patterns. Emil had never see such small dogs before, and guessed they were no older than three weeks, hazardously young to be riding in Li's bag.

"Why do you have three dogs?" he asked.

"I rescued them," Li explained. "The next-door neighbour's dog had a litter, these guys, and they weren't very happy about it. I heard her tell him to get rid of them, and I was afraid I, um, could guess what he intended to do." He wrinkled his nose, not unlike the puppies. Emil was glad he didn't clarify; he had a soft heart for animals. Li did, too, it seemed. "So," said the Chinese boy matter-of-factly, "I took them."

"You stole them?"

"Rescued," he repeated emphatically.

"And the bag?"

"Oh." Li's grin returned in a sly curl. "Because my brother doesn't know I have them, and I really don't want him to. He's not much of a dog person. I'm going to try to find homes for them after—Hey, wait!" he burst out, making Emil jump. He watched as Li's whole face broke into an exuberant smile. "You should take them, Snowflake! Here!"

Before Emil could protest, Li pushed the puppies into the basket of his arms. Their bodies were soft and very warm, and a giddy, childish laugh spilled out of Emil before he could swallow it. The puppies wriggled, tiny, wet noses prodding, and squishy pink paw pads kneading his skin. One of them burrowed into the front of his robe, seeking his body-heat and tickling his skin; another yawned and fell instantly asleep in the crook of his arm; the last tried to climb his collarbone to lick his chin, its little tongue quivering.

"Awe, they like you," said Li, his smile big and bright.

Emil considered the wee puppies, then looked at the black-eyed boy who had gifted them to him. He met Li's gaze and slowly, bravely—hoping his voice didn't crack—admitted:

"I like them, too."

Li's cheeks darkened, and, nervously, he over-played the nonchalance. "O-oh, yeah?" He cocked a thick eyebrow. "Enough to tell them your real name?"

Emil mirrored his forwardness and moved until they were standing only inches apart, nearly the same lanky height, with three puppies between them. He delayed his answer, intentionally milking the flirtatious moment; seeing hope in Li's warm, coffee eyes, and wondering if the other boy's heart was drumming just as hard as his. Emil waited until Li began to instinctively bow his head, closing the remaining gap between them, then he teasingly stepped back.

"No," he said breezily, and casually toed open the bedroom door, inviting Li to leave.

The shock receded quickly from Li's face, with a shake of his head and a smirk on his face.

"Later, Snowflake," he said. Then cheekily added: "Take good care of our babies while I'm gone!"

Emil kicked the door closed behind him, burying his smile in brindled fluff.

TWO DAYS LATER

Emil was juggling puppies. He held two perched precariously over one arm, like laundry hanging over a clothesline, their hind legs bicycling, while he chased the third across his bedroom. The fluffy little thief had stolen a sock and was racing across the floor in bouncing, uncoordinated delight. He had managed to keep his new pets a secret for nearly forty-eight hours, which hadn't been easy—he hoped no one checked the balcony—but, so preoccupied with retrieving his sock, he didn't hear the knock at the door.

"Come back here you—" he was saying when the visitor got impatient and stepped inside.

"What," said a cold, critical voice, freezing Emil in place, "is that?"

Emil faced Bjørn, who was standing in the open doorway, his arms crossed in parental disapproval. "Um, a dog—?" the boy said, smiling helplessly.

Bjørn stared.

"Okay, it's three dogs," Emil surrendered, showing the two in his arms. "Can I keep them?"

"Where did you get three dogs?" Bjørn asked, ignoring the boy's plea.

Emil pursed his lips and tried to avoid his brother's penetrating gaze. Bjørn's cold, violet eyes were like lie-detectors, and Emil dared not risk lying to him, even to protect Li.

Fortunately, he didn't have to, because at that moment the sock thief darted for the door and came nose-to-boot with Mikkel.

The Dane scooped the wee puppy into his hand—the Shih Tzu fit perfectly in his palm—and brought it to eye-level to inspect. It licked his nose, tail wagging.

"Can I keep them?" Emil asked hopefully, smiling sweetly and batting his eyelashes as he presented the other two puppies.

Mikkel cocked an eyebrow, then shrugged benignly. "Sure," he said, returning the puppy to Emil. "Whatever you want. Just don't let them loose in the house."

Bjørn rolled his eyes at the Dane's indulgence, but didn't argue.

"Listen, Em," Mikkel said, a note of seriousness in his voice, "I've got a meeting with this Braginsky character in an hour. I want you to stay in your room until he's gone, okay? It shouldn't be long."

Emil was barely listening, back to juggling fluff-balls. "Hmm? Oh yeah, sure," he agreed. "Stay inside, got it."

"Good," Mikkel nodded. He shared a look with Bjørn, then left the bedroom.

Bjørn lingered for a moment, watching Emil and his mystery pets, and then left without a word. Emil didn't trust his brother's silence, but nor did he fear any kind of retribution. As long as Li's identity remained a secret, there was no reason for Mikkel or Bjørn to be upset about a litter of harmless puppies gifted to their spoiled baby-brother.

One day, whispered a nagging voice in his head, you're going to have to grow-up, Emil. Your brothers won't always be here, and then who will protect you? Who will be left to care about spoiled, selfish, sheltered little Emil Thomassen when the only people who love you are gone? When you're all alone?

Li's impish smile filled Emil's thoughts, but he quickly shook his head.

He had socks to find.

LI

Li drummed his fingers on the steering-wheel, bobbing his head to a phantom rhythm as he waited for Ivan and Yao.

"Stay with the car," Yao had said, eyeing his youngest sibling warily. "That is your only job, Li. Just—stay."

Li rolled his eyes now, bored. The car was parked on a residential street, a block away from Mikkel's house. Mikkel's mansion, Li decided; the house was four levels, enclosed in a ten-foot tall wall, with a gate manned twenty-four-seven. The only thing it was missing was mean-tempered guard dogs. Li had rather enjoyed breaking into it, and considered it one of the finer feats of his career as a messenger-thief. Sneaking into places he wasn't supposed to be was his talent; waiting in the getaway car—"we're not bank robbers, it's not a getaway car!" Yao said—was not.

"This is stupid," Li muttered, shoving open the driver's side door. He climbed out, locked the car, checked for bystanders, dog-walkers, nannies, and stay-at-home trophy spouses, shoved his ungloved hands into his pockets, and casually set out to scale a mansion.

He intended to visit Porsche and the puppies, of course. Just the thought of seeing the pretty violet-eyed boy again fueled him with nervous energy. But that's not where he ended up.

The ledge he perched on was a long, narrow window on the second-level, which looked into a breezy parlour; the parlour in which Mikkel was entertaining his guest, Ivan. The drapes were half-closed, the window was half-open, despite the cold. Pft, northerners, Li thought in disdain, kicking snow off the sill in disgust. He crouched, aware of the security cameras' blind-spots, and leant cautiously around the drapes to peek inside.

The window faced a large, stone hearth with seating arranged in front of it, giving Li a view of the occupants in profile. Mikkel was leaning back on one couch, his legs resting on the coffee-table. He wore blue-jeans and a blonde bed-head: way to dress-up, Densen. His pet, Jaguar, was curled-up like a cat beside him, with his head lying lazily on Mikkel's shoulder. He looked unlike a drug addict, for once; instead, he looked like weekend domesticity, wearing a wool sweater so large it fell off one shoulder. Together, they looked like they had just rolled out of bed to meet Ivan for tea on a holiday afternoon. If not for Ivan's large, suited profile, hands folded in frozen formality; and Yao, who stood just behind Ivan's couch, dressed in head-to-toe black, Li found it easy to imagine Mikkel watching television in his underwear, eating peanut butter directly from the jar. This is the guy I'm afraid of? How embarrassing. Then again—those muscles were nothing to scoff at. Ivan was a dangerous man, but he didn't have the unstable ferocity Mikkel was reputed to possess. It was the Dane's smile that made Li nervous, and the playful twinkle in his blue eyes.

"—you want access to my network of, let's call them resources," Mikkel was saying cavalierly, "in order to do what, exactly?"

"I don't think it's necessary—"

"It's my money, it's my network," Mikkel interrupted, "so, it's necessary. I might not be a successful money-lender," he said, mocking Ivan's situation, "but I don't make deals without details, Mr. Braginsky."

Li recognized Ivan's irritation by the tick of his jaw. "I need to monitor the market," he said stiffly.

"Stocks?"

"Human-trafficking," Ivan clarified.

Mikkel's eyebrows lifted, and Jaguar raised his head. "I don't deal in slavery," Mikkel said firmly, the smile fleeing his face. "I don't know what you've heard, Mr. Braginsky, but the boys in my employ are here by choice. I don't own them; I didn't buy them."

"I beg to differ," Ivan muttered, clenching his hands so tightly that his knuckles became bone-white. "Money isn't the world's only currency, Mr. Densen."

Mikkel's eyes narrowed. At first Li feared it was in anger, that he would finally witness the Dane's infamous temper, but after a moment he recognized contemplation.

"Oh, I see," Mikkel mused, his voice low but still, somehow, filling the room, "you're looking for someone."

The parlour fell into an uncomfortably charged silence, and the interaction that followed was one Li couldn't interpret. Mikkel and Ivan stared—glared—at each other, like two lions in challenge. But the more interesting rivalry seemed to be happening between the pride's huntresses: Yao and Jaguar looked more animated than Li had ever seen either of them. His brother's dark, intelligent eyes were focused on the Norwegian in deep suspicion, and when Jaguar slid his hand up over Mikkel's chest, suggestive and possessive, Yao felt threatened enough to place a supportive hand on Ivan's shoulder. Jaguar smiled—at least, Li guessed it was a smile—and cupped Mikkel's chin to turn his head. The motion was fluid; Mikkel's stare never left Ivan as he leant toward Jaguar. Jaguar pressed his lips to Mikkel's ear and whispered something that ballooned the Dane's chest. Ivan visibly tensed and leant back into Yao's touch. The subtle signals they gave each other usually made Li roll his eyes and pretend to gag, but in this situation he found it weirdly heartwarming. The way Yao tried to soothe Ivan's unease while maintaining a straight face and defensive posture was, dare he say? Admirable.

Li and his family had never pretended not to have a complicated and, at times, rather strained relationship, but it was moments like this that made the youngest boy want to ape his eldest brother, jealous of him in the innocent way of proud younger siblings. Yao was—not that Li would ever verbally admit it—clever, confident, capable, and beautiful: all of the things Li wanted to be. Next to Li's petty thievery, Yao was a master of shadows, accomplished in his coveted skills, and respected in the dangerous world he lived in. He reminded Li of the assassin avatars he liked to play online—had even secretly modeled his favourite after his big brother. But most of all, Li admired his brother for his unwavering determination and unshakable foundation, and how he had turned himself into something amazing in a world that had given him nothing. When Yao stood next to Ivan—more than a foot shorter and half the Russian's width—he didn't appear small or insignificant; he didn't seem belittled, and Li didn't understand how. Mikkel Densen and his feline pet scared the daylights out of him, but Yao's facade didn't break. It didn't even crack. Jaguar's mockery clearly irritated him, but he refused to be baited, displaying a degree of self-control that Li could only dream of.

"Tell me who you're looking for," Mikkel said after a challenging minute. It wasn't a request.

Ivan's face was stony, his lips sealed. He wouldn't betray Yao's trust by telling his secrets.

He didn't need to.

"My siblings," Yao said, drawing Mikkel's attention. "My siblings were sold into slavery many years ago. I—"

"We," Ivan corrected.

"—will do whatever it takes to find and free them," Yao finished.

Again, Jaguar whispered and Mikkel listened; the former's long fingers threaded the Dane's hair, the latter slipped an arm around the Norwegian's waist. Li found this display—unsettling. They may have been in love, they may not, but their dynamic was a power-play deliberately intended to make their audience feel uncomfortable, and it was working. Perhaps that's why Mikkel always kept Jaguar so close.

"Okay," Mikkel nodded, "I'll give you access to my connections, but I'm being honest, Braginsky: I don't have any stakes in the slave-trade."

"Some of your associates do, though," said Ivan, "and those are the names I want."

"And what do I get in return?"

"I can give you Arthur and Matthew Kirkland."

Mikkel laughed. "Sell me something I don't already have."

Ivan's jaw tightened, but he managed to force a smile. "Oh, do you? You said it yourself, you don't own any of your employees."

"That's right," Mikkel said defensively. "They come to me for employment, security, protection, and I give it to them. Arthur Kirkland was no different. He came to me."

"But he owes you money, doesn't he? And you know he can't pay. What do you call that if not extortion?"

"Arthur works for an independent employer," Mikkel began, but Ivan interrupted:

"An employer who rents your space, whose product distribution operates within your club, and whose illegal films are a target of a police investigation. Are you aware that Arthur Kirkland has connections to the city police?"

"If you're referring to his fling with the French detective," Mikkel cut in, uninterested, "I don't see how that concerns me."

"It'll concern you when Kirkland sells you out."

"He won't."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I am, because I do have Matthew," Mikkel said, losing patience. "I'm the only thing protecting Matthew from the law, and Arthur knows that. He would never risk the boy's safety."

"Except he already has." It was Ivan's turn to smile, which made Li shiver. It was not a pleasant smile. "What if he's already given Detective Bonnefoi a list of names? What if Sergeant Beilschmidt"—Mikkel tensed—"took those names and has already made five arrests?"

Mikkel finally discarded his lax attitude and sat forward. He kept a hand on Jaguar's leg, but it was no longer a flirtatious gesture; now, it was a subtle request for support.

"Here's my proposal," Ivan continued, leaning forward, folding his hands in a business-like fashion. "Arthur owes a lot of money to both of us; money he can't afford to pay. Money is what's made him desperate enough to go to the police. I, too, need money in order to buy freedom for Yao's siblings, and I need access to your connections—"

"Get to the point, Braginsky."

"Forgive Arthur's debt and pay off the balance owing to me. It's nothing you can't afford, Densen. In return, I'll take care of the police presence."

"How?"

"Arthur," Ivan replied. "And Matthew."

Mikkel sighed. "Alright, fine. Monitor Arthur—"

Jaguar tapped Mikkel's arm, and a communicative look passed between them.

"—but leave Matthew alone," Mikkel finished. "If I need you to persuade him, I'll ask. Until then, stay away. I have other uses for him."

Ivan wordlessly stood and extended his hand, Yao beside him. Mikkel followed and stood as well, drawing up Jaguar, who fit puzzle-like against the Dane's side. They shook and it was done.

"Oh, one more thing," Mikkel drew Ivan's—and inadvertently, Li's—attention. "If any of this is going to work, I need you to make an anonymous delivery to Sergeant Beilschmidt's house."

Ivan frowned, and glanced quickly at Yao. "What kind of delivery?"

Mikkel grinned. Jaguar fetched a large manila envelope from a locked cabinet and handed it to Mikkel, who handed it to Ivan, who recognized the royal blue coat-of-arms on the front. Li couldn't see it clearly, but inside seemed to be a single document. Ivan looked unimpressed and confused as he read, then, suddenly, his eyebrows soared.

"This is a risky play," he warned Mikkel. "Are you sure it's what you want to do? There will be no going back, and you can't predict how Beilschmidt will react."

Mikkel's confidence didn't waver. His face, his voice was scary-calm.

"Oh, I know exactly how he's going to react, Mr. Braginsky. Just make sure he gets that envelope."