How did it come to this?

Chapter One

It wasn't supposed to happen this way.

It was supposed to be a simple job. Go in for the kill and then leave when the task was complete. No attachments, no connections. Just kill the bastard and get the fuck out of there.

But that's not what ended up happening.

Instead I'm lying here, getting colder and colder as the darkness stings the edges of my vision and steadily grows stronger.

And he's calling my name.

•••

Entry 01

This is the journal of one, Arthur Kirkland.

It was recommended that I use this as a private method of recording my actions while carrying out my respective tasks. And while, initially, it sounds like a ridiculous child's secret diary, I have been told that it will help relieve any built up stress.

And so, I begin.

For starters, I work for a corporation. Not any that is in the public eye, however. Underground secrets are always kept as just that.

I was once a journalist, and a pretty damn good one, I might add. My stories were always taken in high regard by my superiors and my name was known well throughout the business.

And that's where I met Vargas.

Even then he was quite the character. His name was known everywhere, much like my own. He was like an empire all by himself. And that is just what he had built. An underground empire. A dangerous and merciless one that would have one trembling in fear if one knew of it.

But that is not how he works. No, Julius Vargas likes to keep his secrets and that is what originally intrigued me about the man.

He was known everywhere, but at the same time, no one knew him.

My assignment had seemed simple. Find out what the secretive man was really up to. But, as they always say, "curiosity killed the cat". And I was the cat.

And so, Vargas caught me and now I work for him, leaving all that was past behind me.

Arthur Kirkland, the highly thought of journalist, was left far behind, replaced by Arthur Kirkland, the pirate-like underling of the underground tyrant known as Julius Vargas.

Which brings me to today.

Vargas had summoned me to his office, and while this was not an unusual occurrence in itself, they news he brought was.

"Your next job." He had said to me, producing a photograph and sliding it over to me.

It was the usual. Quick assassination and then get out of there while no one suspects.

Or that was what I had assumed.

The photograph was of a man, not long out of college by the looks of him, golden blonde hair, blue eyes covered by glasses. The look of one who was too naïve to know how to read the atmosphere.

"He's a journalist working in the States." Vargas continued rambling, looking all too happy with himself. "And he's getting a little too big for his boots. Wang is looking to get rid of him and requested us to take care of the job."

Wang Yao. Chinese entrepreneur. Known for his shady dealings but never gets his own hands dirty.

"The Russian has already taken care of one of the boy's colleagues. Caused quite a stir. But the tenacious bastards have gotten all the more curious. So we've been called in. And with your expertise in the area of the news, I thought you perfect for the job, Kirkland. You're more subtle than Braginski in any case."

"Anything else I need to know?" I had asked, slightly annoyed at Vargas's assumptions of me. What right did he have to shove me straight back into the world that I had left behind?

"He works for Beilschmidt."

Ah, it would have had to be him wouldn't it?

Albert Beilschmidt, the man responsible for all the investigations into the underworld organisations. It was thanks to him that Vargas has been checked out so many times.

But that wasn't all.

It is a well-known fact amongst our group that Vargas is a rather, well, doting grandfather (even if he doesn't look old enough). Which is especially why any matter concerning this particular newspaper editor grinds at him the worst.

It was Beilschmidt's grandson that caught the attention of Vargas's youngest grandson, Feliciano. And that was that. The two boys had become inseparable and the pasta loving idiot had disappeared to join the other side. He 'preferred the light', someone once said to me.

"Alright." I stood, taking the photo and pocketing it. "And what's the victim's name?"

Alfred F. Jones.

•••

Entry 02

Why? Why? WHY did I take this job?

Firstly, I hate flying. Aeroplanes have to be the most uncomfortable form of transport ever invented! Too small seats and someone else's forced back into my face so that I have even less space during the SEVEN AND A HALF HOUR trip.

Needless to say, I exited the plane in New York in a decidedly sour mood.

My ID for the job had been cleared and once again I am a reporter, though this time it's not exactly by choice.

I've had just about enough of writing pretentious stories for the wankers out there who just want to gossip.

Oh, and then there was him.

One of Vargas's personal favourites. Antonio Fernandez Carriedo.

This insufferable Spaniard dotes on the older of Vargas's grandchildren, Lovino. But I have always seen him as just a waste of bloody space.

And now we had been given this goddamn assignment together! Him acting as a photographer for Beilschmidt's paper and me as a journalist. What could have possibly made my day any worse?

I'll tell you what.

That bloody, intolerable git!

"Hey! Over here!"

You could have seen him from a mile away, the way he was acting. Waving like a child at his parents on the day of his school play.

This meeting, needless to say, was even worse than I had expected.

This, I am afraid to say, was how I met Alfred F. Jones.

"You're Arthur, right?" He had said, pulling both myself and Antonio out of the crowd of arrivals.

"I'm Arthur Kirkland, yes." I suppose I must have glared at him, the way he recoiled slightly before coming forward again and shaking my hand.

He had a strong grip, I suppose, if there is any compliment I can give him, it is that. And, well, that he was rather good-looking (though comments on my orientation have never been appreciated).

He can't be much younger than me, even if he does look as innocent as a toddler. The gleam in his brilliantly blue eyes was dazzling, and his excitement obvious. Although, that one strand of hair that stubbornly stood bolt upright from the rest of his sunny blonde hair was rather annoying.

"That's great!" He seemed to be fond of shouting, even as he greeted Antonio. "I've got a car waiting to take you to your hotel. The editor says you can start work in the morning."

Thankfully Antonio and I are not sharing rooms, or I fear I would be killing him instead of my real target.

And speaking of which. After that meeting, I must say, Alfred Jones is mostly definitely not want I had in mind.

Vargas never told me why the boy was the target. Wang must be pretty desperate to get rid of him if he hooked us into it, but that still doesn't answer any of my questions.

Work starts in the morning and it goes without saying that I will be working with Jones while I am here.

All the better to find an opportunity to get rid of the sod. His weaknesses will all be on show.

However, given that he has made himself known to that Chinese guy, Jones must be more than meets the eye, otherwise he wouldn't have ended up this deep in shit.

I'm getting some answers starting tomorrow.

•••

Entry 03

I think I must have been introduced to everyone working at the newspaper office about seven times.

Saying that Jones is a little eccentric would be the biggest understatement I have ever made.

The boy is like a bloody puppy! Forever excited, and creating endless mess.

He's lucky that he's popular with the rest of the staff. If I had been in charge then he would never have made it past his first day.

Beilschmidt must have been desperate for reporters.

Antonio was whisked away by the other members of the photography department (Beilschmidt's oldest grandson and some French wanker), only too happy to get some time away from the bustle Jones was creating. No doubt he will be causing trouble elsewhere, though.

Beilschmidt, himself, is a serious enough character. Never letting his defences down, even towards his regular employees.

He greeted me with a formal handshake, before informing me that I will indeed be working with Jones in his latest case (the boy certainly had a reputation).

From what I can tell, it is a fairly serious matter as something I did find out was the name of the man Braginski killed.

Heracles Karpusi.

A Greek man working on some top secret case that I am apparently going to be informed of in the near future.

Looks like I am going to get some answers.

•••

Entry 04

Apparently, my name as a reporter has lived on while I have been inactive.

Today I spent a good hour and a half trying to convince that oaf, Jones, that I had stopped being a journalist for personal reasons, not because I am secretly an undercover secret agent working for the government to bring down the "bad guys".

Although, I must say that it's a relief knowing that he is completely oblivious to the fact that I am the exact opposite of what he believes.

Git.

Jones's character is rather surprising, really.

He acts like an utter buffoon most of the time, running around like the idiot he is. But then when he sits down to work, he is completely focused. Nothing can distract him.

It's like he is an entirely different person.

It makes me think of how formidable he would be if he were this serious all the time.

But that being said, I am starting to believe that he will not be such an easy target after all.

•••

Entry 05

I am going to KILL that bloody frog that Antonio has apparently befriended.

I don't know what that wanker is thinking, letting himself get caught up so bloody easily, but if I find one more object like that in my desk again, I swear all three members of that trio will be hung from their balls in the highest place I can manage.

Briefing on Jones's case to happen tomorrow.

•••

Entry 06

Drug dealing.

That's what this is all about.

Nothing like the ordinary bollocks that's usually dealt. This stuff is apparently a lot shadier. Something that'll give the person a kick, but then either leave them a bumbling wreck the next day, or dead.

Jesus, Jones likes to get himself mixed up in shit.

Karpusi had managed to get a lead on Wang's underground dealerships and had started investigating. Unlucky bastard didn't know what hit him when that Russian came calling.

Jones mentioned on the off-hand that the person who had briefed me on the situation had actually been involved with Karpusi. Honda, I think his name was. A Japanese origin, of which Jones appears to be on good terms with (or I assume so, seeing as I overheard him trying to convince the rather timid bloke to play video games with him because it would 'cheer him up').

This is all getting more and more complicated and I'm wondering whether Vargas knows the whole story behind this.

I need more answers, but God knows where I'm going to get them.

Only thing to do now is to follow Jones's lead and see where it takes me.

The more answers I get, the easier the kill will be.

•••

"Artie!"

He came running over to me, laughing as usual and acting like a total buffoon.

"I told you not to call me that, Jones." I growled back, not looking up from my laptop screen.

"And I told you to call my Alfred. But that doesn't matter right now. C'mon."

He grabbed my wrist (the idiot has no concept of personal space) and dragged me away from my work, leading me into one of the offices where Honda was sat quietly, much to the contrast of his friend.

"Ah, good." Honda spoke up, shifting a sheet of paper across the desk. "Mr Beilschmidt asked me to pass this on to the two of you. Top secret information on the case."

"Sweet." Jones snatched the paper, luckily not ripping it. He skimmed over it, his expression getting more and more serious as he went on. "Are you sure about this, Kiku? Like, absolutely, definitely sure?"

"I am. This is serious business, Alfred, and it is not to be taken lightly." Honda stood, circling the desk and passing the paper to me. "And we need to make our move before another one of ends up dead."

•••

Entry 15

Over a week has passed since Honda located Wang's base.

Although, apparently this information was not as new to him as I had originally thought. Apparently the entirety of Beilschmidt's employees are full of surprises.

Honda is Wang's cousin and has known the details of his business for some time. He is yet another person to decide to work under Beilschmidt instead of hiding away in the dark. And though I loathe saying it, I can see why.

Honda had been spying here for Wang, had apparently gotten involved with Karpusi and then when the man was killed, he secretly decided to start spying on Wang instead.

Like I said, full of surprises.

I would never have imagined that this quiet Asian man was capable of so much secrecy.

He has also said that drug dealing may not be the whole picture. That there must be more to it or they wouldn't send in assassins – people like me, though I'm hoping that they haven't figured that much out yet.

Jones has gotten more serious about the work at hand.

I think the idea of one of them being killed again may have shaken him up a bit. I wonder if he has realised that the next one to go is going to be him.

I would also like to have some insight into what these people are trying to find out. I'm pretty sure that Antonio knows, but isn't letting anything on. Bloody cheek if you ask me. Vargas trusts him far too much.

It pains me, but the boy is really working hard at this case.

He really sees himself as the hero that's going to save people from Wang's doings (the fool). And it's that determination that makes him slightly (though very slightly) endearing. I haven't met someone like him since I left journalism. And even then, the one with that determination was me.

I hate seeing that old part of me in him.

It's ridiculous and too idealistic for my liking anymore.

And for some reason that I cannot fathom. That kind of optimism really works for Jones.

Fuck.

This is going to be harder than I thought.

•••

Entry 16

Antonio decided he was going to check on me.

And by this I mean that he decided to threaten me.

"Why don't you hurry the fuck up and kill the kid?"

God knows why.

I don't.

•••

Entry 17

Never make a bond.

It has always been a rule of mine ever since I joined this business. One cannot be a cold-blooded killer when they still hold affections.

And yet here I am, watching that idiot Jones make a fool of himself on a daily basis and actually enjoying his company!

There's something wrong with me.

Doing this case with him, it's reminded me of what it was like back when I actually was a reporter, not just pretending to be one.

I remember what it was like to feel as if I was delving into the deepest, darkest secrets of the world and then revealing them for all to see. None of that trivial gossip, of course. Only things that would really make a difference.

But it was those thoughts that got me landed with the Vargas case, and now here I am, planning to kill the one who still has that idealism that the world can actually be a good place to live in.

Why does that boy's hope have to be so bloody contagious?

It's giving me a headache.

•••

Entry 25

Another week has passed. And now after all of the ramblings and rummaging through useless pieces of information, Honda decided it high time to try and infiltrate Wang's company.

Not good.

For one, the guy could have someone killed on sight. That Russian, Braginski, never leaves his side and he's a bloody giant! Could even have Vargas shaking in his boots like his coward of a grandkid if he wanted to.

Secondly, he may trust Honda, but he most certainly won't trust two random strangers that have wandered in with him.

And lastly – the biggest problem - he knows who Jones is.

He'd have him killed on sight.

And while that would save me from having to do it, I would likely get the chop just for being with them.

This seriously isn't going to end well.

•••

"Seriously, man, stop worrying! You're giving me the jitters!" Jones hissed at me.

"Shut it, git." I glowered at him, and straightened my tie again, just for the sake of it.

We were outside Wang's building, Honda leading the way inside. He must've known the corridors like the back of his hand, the way he guided us through without getting caught and questioned by security once.

And no sign of the Russian. Thank God!

"You both need to be quiet." He whispered back at us. "We can't let anyone know that we are here until we reach Yao's office."

I glanced at Jones walking next to me. He had tidied himself up surprisingly well. Suit and tie all neat and straight, hair combed (though still sticking up) and shoes polished.

Dammit. Why did he have to brush up so well?

"What is it?" He had caught me looking.

"Nothing." I muttered, willing the heat in my cheeks to disperse.

Honda held up a hand, signalling us to stop as he checked around another corner. "Wait here." He whispered, taking the briefcase Jones had been holding on to, and turned to knock on the closest door. "If something goes wrong, don't think. Just run."

And with that, he turned and entered the room.

I leant with my back against the wall, hoping to catch at least some of the conversation between Honda and my real employer. Jones, however, had other things planned.

"Why aren't we going in with him?" He might as well have shouted.

"Shh!" I hissed, pulling him back from his attempt to follow his colleague. "Stop trying to get yourself killed!"

Wang was talking to Honda about something or another, speaking in very fast Mandarin, Honda making sparse comments in return, clearly marking himself as his cousin's subordinate.

I chanced a glimpse around the doorframe, seeing the layout of Wang's rather large office. His oriental origins were made obvious, the various Chinese furnishings scattered around the room along with the usual office furniture that one would expect to find.

And, right there, stood in the corner watching the two much smaller Asians, was the tall, smiling, but impossibly intimidating Russian, Braginski, overseeing the entire exchange. But lucky for me, he hadn't noticed my movement by the door.

At some point Wang had switched to speaking in English, but continued to speak at such a rate that I almost thought Honda was finding it hard to keep up with him. That was until Honda's expression changed from one of indifference, into immense shock. And I wish for the life of me that I had heard what Wang had said, but something, someone, took my attention away just at that moment.

Braginski's gaze had moved, his icy smile fixed on a spot directly above my head.

I glanced up, and in that moment knew exactly what had gone wrong.

Of all the stupid things he could have done, Jones had decided to join me in spying on the conversation, but had evidently forgotten to keep himself hidden. That idiot! His face was in full view of the occupants of the room and he hadn't even noticed!

Honda had also seen Jones's error and was staring at Braginski with wide eyes, with no doubt knowing what was going to happen next.

"If you don't mind me interrupting," Braginski spoke, his grin widening, "it seems that we have some guests."

Wang peered around Honda, managing to catch a glimpse of me pulling Jones back out of view. "Aiyah." He sighed, turning to speak to his henchman, "Take care of them will you."

"No, wait!" Honda stepped in front of Braginski, trying to block his way to the exit.

"Is this a betrayal, Kiku?" Wang's tones had turned sour. "Because I have no need for this kind of behaviour, even if you are family. That person was definitely Jones; now please let Ivan past, aru."

I heard Braginski step around Honda and reach the doorway in just a matter of steps, before he turned and met my glare with his smile.

"Run." I muttered, taking a step backwards.

"But, Kiku is-" He tried to protest.

"Just fucking run, Alfred!" I turned and grabbed him, sprinting as fast as I could away from the Russian who had been bearing down on us. Away from Alfred's friend. And away from the job that I should have been doing.

I could hear Braginski coming after us. The thumps of his heavy footsteps echoing down the corridors that we had been in only seconds before merged with the beating of my own heart in my ears and the hurried breathing of Alfred behind me.

My legs ached and I couldn't remember which way was the way out. My head was throbbing with everything that had just happened and I couldn't understand any of it. And it was in that moment that Alfred took the lead, dashing ahead of me and leading the way down the next corridor, all the while still holding onto my hand.

I hadn't registered it. The fact that I had grasped hold of his hand in my moment of panic and I could feel my face heating up just thinking about it and the tingling sensation in my chest that just made it feel, well, right.

But it wasn't the time for thinking about things like that!

Bloody hell, we were on the run!

And then, we were outside, dashing towards the car we had come in. And just as quickly as it had all started, we were driving away, leaving the tower block a small speck in the rear-view mirror.

"Not cool." Alfred gasped, leaning a little harder on the steering wheel as he drove.

"Most definitely not." I agreed, sliding down in the passenger seat and fixing my seatbelt.

"What do we do about Kiku?" He glanced at me, the worry for his friend evident on his face.

"He's worked with them before." I sighed, "I'm sure he will be able to look after himself."

Alfred gave me a small smile, focusing on driving once more.

"Hey, Arthur?" He addressed me after a few more minutes of silence.

"Hmm?"

"You called me 'Alfred'." His grin returned to his face as he looked away from the road, instead staring at my increasingly red face.

•••

Entry 27

Vargas is not happy.

Apparently Wang reported back to him about the incident a couple of days ago and according to him, I'm not doing my job properly.

And, well, I suppose he's right.

If that had happened in any normal situation, I would have taken a step back and let Braginski deal with the bugger. One less job for me, you know?

So why didn't I let him fucking kill Alfred?

But that's another thing.

I never met anyone like Alfred before. He's like a pure spirit. Nothing brings him down.

Even as I'm writing this, he's sitting on the opposite side of our office, devising his 'master plan' for rescuing Honda, seeing himself as the hero, of course.

Dammit! Why am I looking at him like this?

It's like he captures my gaze every time I turn around.

What happened to being a cold-hearted killer?

•••

"Hey, Arthur?" Alfred approached me as I closed my laptop after finishing my journal.

"Yeah?" I pulled off my reading glasses, only too glad that he hadn't disturbed me a second earlier.

"Jeez, man, you look exhausted. What were you working on?" He rubbed his thumb under my eye, a small smile supported on his lips.

"Something personal." I muttered, brushing his hand away and wishing that my cheeks wouldn't burn so much from the contact. "Keeps my mind at ease."

"Hmm?" He tilted his head to one side in that very child-like manner of his, that dammit, almost made him look cute. "Well, I think we should call it a night. Everyone else has left." He held out his hand to help me up. "C'mon. I'll take you back to your hotel."

I hesitated, really willing the heat in my face to fucking go away, before taking the idiotic boy's hand and let him pull me out of my seat.

"Actually," he said, his voice taking on a softer, lower tone, "On second thought, I'll take you back to mine. It's closer and I won't have to worry about you attempting to do work after I've dropped you off."

I huffed, raising an eyebrow, "Since when did you turn into my babysitter?"

He poked my brown back down again. "Nah, I'm just worried about you, is all. Don't want you collapsing somewhere from worrying your cute little head off."

"I'm not cute." I snapped, glaring and knowing that my face must have been positively glowing by this point. "And may I ask why exactly you think I would accept any offer of yours?"

"Oh, come on, Artie!" He whined, "I'm only trying to be nice. And besides, you really are working too hard. You need to take a break!"

He started trying to drag me out of the office, a smattering of pink on his cheeks. "Come on!"

I couldn't help but laugh. He just looked so goddamned daft! "Fine. Fine." I pulled my hand away. "Let me just gather my things together."

•••

Alfred had given me an old pair of his pyjamas to wear for the night, and for some reason had decided it was a good idea to confiscate my laptop bag and notepad in some strange method of preventing me from doing any more work for the night.

And while I suppose that it was well after midnight, it still wasn't anywhere near the time when I would have normally been asleep.

"Don't you think that this is a tad unnecessary, Alfred?" I scoffed as he re-entered his bedroom after I had finished changing.

"It is not! There's no way I'm risking you trying to start working on something again and keeling over. Nuh uh. No way-! Why aren't you wearing the shirt?" He had turned a furious shade of red, hastily shoving his glasses back up the bridge of his nose in embarrassment.

"Hm?" But naturally, I was oblivious. Because I like to make things that much harder for myself. "Because it's more comfortable this way. And your clothes are too big for me." I huffed, readjusting the trousers he had leant me as if to prove my point.

No, it's not something I'm particularly pleased about. That fact that while Alfred is not too much taller than me, he has a much stronger build, which is just so goddamn annoying!

I looked up and started backwards, almost tripping on the edge of the bed. Just when had Alfred gotten so close?

"W-What are you doing?" I tripped over my words, staring at him in front of me.

"I was just wondering," he almost whispered, cupping my face in one hand, "why you're so closed off to the world." He bit his lip, "I mean, you were practically famous before. I don't get it."

"People change, Alfred." I said, turning my face away. "The world isn't always what you think it is. It's about time you learnt that."

"And you need to learn that sometimes it is." He said, pulling me back to face him, his eyes dark behind his lenses.

And then he closed the distance between us, pushing me backwards onto the bed.

Alfred's arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer to him, while all I could do was stare at him, aghast with wide eyes. What on earth was he doing? What kind of message did I give him that resulted in this?

"You don't have to look so surprised." He chuckled, breaking the contact and brushing my hair out of my eyes.

I must have looked like a fish – opening and closing my mouth but with no sound whatsoever coming out. I'm such a fool.

"Was I really that bad?" He looked down, his usually dazzling smile turning sad, the light reflecting on his glasses completely hiding his eyes from view.

And that's when it clicked.

I couldn't kill him.

There was no way I could kill him.

How on earth could I end the life of someone so damned perfect? Someone so… so right.

Jesus Christ, when did I become so bloody soft?

"Alfred." I smiled, actually properly for the first time in years, and God did I feel young again. It had been far too long since I had felt my age, and not like some heartless creature in a twenty-five year old's body. "You weren't terrible."

He looked back up at me, the surprise at my words evident on his features before his grin reappeared on his face and his grip tightened around me once more as he let out a relieved laugh, nuzzling into my shoulder.

Alfred's breath tickled my neck as we lay there unmoving, just enjoying the sensation of each other's warmth. And I mean actually enjoying it. I haven't enjoyed anything since I was an intern for my first newspaper all those years ago.

I felt him press his lips against my neck, his kisses travelling up and along my jaw until he was looking me in the eye once more, his beautiful blue orbs stared straight at me and sparkled before the distance between us closed again. Although, this time I met him half way.

It was like I was being born again. This was something so new and fresh. Something that I could just feel and know was what I needed. I was memorising all of it. The feel of Alfred's hands as they stroked down my back and mine gripping into the fabric of his shirt. The taste of his toothpaste as his tongue passed through into my mouth. The chapped feeling of his lips against mine and the way our legs had somehow tangled together.

I don't know where it had all come from, but it was incredible.

Unfortunately, it was also short-lived.

I started up, a small flash at the window catching my attention as it sounded. A loud bang and breaking glass.

And then all I remember is jumping up and wrapping myself around Alfred and something hitting me in the shoulder.

Something warm and wet was running down my back and Alfred was staring in horror at me, his eyes darting between my form in front of him, and the figure standing outside the window of his first-floor apartment.

I turned in his grip, slumping against his shoulder to see Antonio standing there, smug smile plastered on his face.

"Well, that wasn't quite what I had in mind." The smile didn't falter in the slightest.

"Antonio, you bastard." I growled, glaring at him. I groped around behind me, trying to find what I had hidden in my coat.

"Well, you weren't getting the job done, Arthur, so the boss asked me to do it instead." He sniggered, "I must say that I am a tad surprised. Your record has always been so perfect up 'til now." He climbed through the broken glass, getting dangerously close.

Alfred grip around me got tighter and he turned me away from the approaching man. "Get out." He seethed in a way I never expected of him. "Go on. Get a head start on the cops."

Antonio let out a bark of laughter. "Just try and phone them, kid." His grin grew all the more. "But you'll just end up getting you little Arthur into trouble as well."

"Hop it, Carriedo." I snarled, holding up my own gun. "You're not the only one who knows how to use one of these things."

"Arthur?" Alfred's attention turned back to me. I could feel his eyes boring into me, the shock written all over his body language.

"Tell Vargas he can fucking well get a new blood hound, I don't want anything else to do with him." I threw the firearm as best I could at the Spaniard, though he easily dodged it.

"He won't like that very much." Antonio's expression darkened, finally taking my words seriously.

"I don't give a damn."

"Well then." He turned, glancing back at me with cold green eyes, "If I have the misfortune of meeting you again, I'll make sure my next shot kills you in one." He stepped back towards the window, avoiding the broken glass. "Oh and as for Jones." His snigger returned. "Next time I won't miss."

And he was gone, disappearing into the night as sirens started ringing out.

Of course the neighbours would have heard.

My vision was turning dark.

"Arthur!" Alfred shook me, trying to keep me conscious.

"Don't worry, love." I smiled, brushing his bangs out of his eyes. "I won't let him hurt you."

"Forget that!" He shouted, "I already knew about it all and I don't care! Just fucking stay awake!"

I barely heard the shaky laugh I let out as I let my eyes fall shut. "So obnoxious, git. Think you're so clever."

"Arthur!"

"I'm glad I didn't kill you."

"Fucking hell! Arthur!"

And then everything went blank.

[A/N: Hullo my lovelies~

I've had the idea for this fic for a little while now and just thought I would get it into motion.

As you can tell, it's not going to be very long, just two or three chapters in total, depending on what I feel like when I start writing the next one.

I actually had the idea for this before I started writing "What Your Eyes Can't See", but found it more difficult to write, so that one got more attention ^^;;

Although I'm so thankful for all the attention my fics have been getting for my readers.

I love you all!

And for those of you who are interested, I've posted the ending image for "What's in a Name?" on my profile (it's the one linked as just England and America).

Thanks for reading, everyone~! 3]