8Disclaimer: Hetalia and all its characters belong to Himaruya. This is fan-made and nonprofit.
Also, Sandra and Gregory are the only OCs there (because one, I needed someone to bring that envelope and, two, no existing character I could think of would have fitted).
Just to be sure:
Amelia = nyo!America / fem!America. As long as I'm aware that is her cannon name.
Lovino Vargas = South Italy (Romano)
Maria = nyo!Prussia. I found her name as being Maria or Julia, but I prefer Maria, so...
Chapter I
Arthur Kirkland was your typical Englishman - tea-addicted, a whole bunch of manners that most didn't give a fuck about, serious and hardworking most of the time, quite cold and distant when it came to emotions, but you couldn't label him as heartless. The fact that his partner often complained about it or about his 'poisonous cooking' was a subjective view. Then again, after you end up in the emergency room for eating a cookie... He wasn't really to blame. Now, Arthur's cooking wouldn't have been so bad, had it not been for his little experiments during the making process. God knew what extra ingredients he mixed in that food! Strangely enough, the only trait not fitting the English profile was the music; for some reason, he was into the punk-rock music, much to everyone's surprise, whom probably assumed he'd have listened to classics or just nothing at all. There were also those extremely thick eyebrows which couldn't be attached to any nation's people's profile. At first sight, they were slightly disturbing and one couldn't possible pass by without wondering about his eyebrows, but it was something defining for him. It also provided as a good way to recognize him if anyone forgot his name, although it was hard to forget it.
The stuffy eyebrows weren't the only impressive thing about detective Kirkland. His folder was more attention-drawing: with all cases solved in the shortest possible time and with the least casualties, starting with small robberies and ending with infiltrations or 'cleaning' missions, he was one of the best detective in UK and one of the top agents working for the Interpol. Of course, the latter was to stay as much of a secret as possible. All the Interpol agents had, supposedly, their identities protected and no one from outside knew who worked there, let alone whom was paired with whom.
Speaking of pairs... Arthur glanced at the Frenchman laying on his couch. Well, their couch. Much to his dismay, they had to share an office because it would help their communication, according to their boss. How did they end up working together, again? Oh, right, cases. Sometime during his second year at the Interpol, he had been introduced to this awful Frenchman, whom he was supposed to work with at some investigation that involved both England and France. Seeing as they were the best representatives of their countries, they had been paired up. Fortunately, the case went smoothly and turned up as a huge success. Unfortunately, that huge success bound them as partners for almost four years now. How many times had he tried to switch partners! He would have exchanged his partner for that dog-loving German anytime! Distant and all too serious as most described him, but at least he was hardworking and didn't flirt with any creature walking on two legs, plus Arthur would have loved some privacy. Or that Russian guy! Sure, he freaked out everyone with his apparently innocent smile, but the Brit could deal with that. Or the Asian - Kiku Honda or something like that. Kirkland didn't know much about him, wasn't quite sure about his name either, but he seemed like an alright person. Overly polite and mostly hard to read, but that wasn't a matter of concern; most agents were hard to read for obvious reasons. Yes, Kiku would have been an excellent option... Oh, right, he worked in a different section. Arthur was mostly a field agent while the Asian worked at the labs. Then there was the Hungarian girl, whom most would have labeled as hot and badass, though also a bitch too because she just knew how to put a guy back in his place. He didn't care about how attractive she was, she just seemed like a good partner. While she was also a field agent, her partner would deny any and every offer. Unfortunately. The Brit thought that her partner might have liked to work with Francis, seeing as they seemed to get along well... And be almost equally pervert. Almost. No one could reach the French's level of romance and erotism.
Kirkland sighed, leaning back on his desk chair. It was impossible. If the Interpol wanted him paired with the infamous Francis Bonnefoy, there was nothing he could do about it. You just didn't play with the Interpol. Do as the big bosses say or get 'cleaned'. He couldn't really quit his job there either; once working for them, you would do so to the day you die. Or the day you tire, if you're lucky to reach that day.
Speaking of working... Where was that search warrant? He needed it if he wanted to take a proper look inside the Vargas Casino. Going there as a client again won't do it; the casino's owner may have been young, but he wasn't a fool. Or not fool enough to leave everything at sight. The detective knew for sure that some illegal affairs were going on inside there. Smuggling, weapon traffic, human traffic,murders and whatnot - given the Vargas family antecedents, he wouldn't put anything behind the new family head. The deals and exchanges must have been taking place in a private area of the place, where not anyone was allowed to enter. He would have certainly been one of those unallowed without a searching warrant. As if on clue, there was a soft knock, followed by a feminine head popping out from behind the door.
"Guess what I have?" She grinned, holding out an envelope.
Arthur jumped on his feet, crossing the distance to the woman almost too enthusiastically. He opened the envelope eagerly and pulled out the desired mandate. A genuine smile tugged at his lips. He had been working at the case for about two years now, but got stuck a few months ago. Now things were slowly starting to work again.
"Thank you, Sandra."
"Vash said you should wear a bulletproof vest, just in case. Also, Elizabeta will be in the area and ready to interfere if necessarily."
The Brit nodded. He was playing with the Italian Mafia here, you could never be too cautious with them. He opened his mouth to reply when a muffled noise cut him off. Sandra turned her gaze to the sleeping French, blushing furiously when she realised what that noise meant.
"W-well, I... I should go...yeah..." She clumsily hurried to the door, adding a short 'Good luck' before closing the door.
Arthur sighed - he was too used to Francis' dreams to be affected by them anymore. Though he couldn't help but wonder how it was possible to have such dreams in a work office. Then again, it was Francis Bonnefoy. That was enough of an explanation.
"Wake up, frog! We got the search warrant."
Francis groaned in disapproval, attempting to roll onto his belly, but instead falling off the couch. Much to the Englishman's amusement. The French muttered something about not finishing his beauty sleep, a detail quickly dismissed by Kirkland. Within two minutes, Bonnefoy was fully awake.
"So we just go there and search through the casino?"
"Yes."
"No arresting?" Francis asked, running a hand through his blond locks, attempting to fix them.
"Unless we find enough evidence."
"Isn't this enough of an evidence?"
Arthur glanced at his partner only to see him gesturing towards his body. Clearly, it wasn't Lovino that he wanted to 'arrest' for a night or two. He face-palmed. Francis was in his mid thirties, while the Brit had yet to reach 29, but the French acted like a horny teenager. And the bulge down south caused by the wet dream only confirmed Kirkland's worries.
"Perhaps you should take...a bathroom break before we start."
"I don't need one. We're going to Vargas Casino, non?"
"We are not arresting anyone for personal purposes. Solve your 'problem' now."
"Now?"
"Now."
Francis stared at him for a second. "I didn't know you had such fantasies, mon cher." He purred teasingly, reaching for his belt. "But I'm m-"
"That's not what I meant! Try to be professional for once."
Francis just laughed at him. "You're too easy to tease, Arthur."
"Kirkland."
"You're too easy to tease, 'Sexy Legs' Kirkland."
It was going to be a long way to the casino... And he would probably have to pay a visit to the psychologist. Again. Now, he didn't do therapy, but the psychologist always managed to make his partner stay put. No one knew how. Plus, this psychologist was a pleasant company. A sane, mentally healthy, normal company.
The night had started well. As usually, the slots machines were the most popular amongst the clients with small budgets. Then there were the classic cards and the roulettes. That was the area opened to the general audience. Behind closed door was the VIP part of the casino. Bigger bets, bigger wins, bigger losses, bigger deals. Only one category of people was allowed here: Mafia. Of course, mobsters came by with their guards, their 'friends', their informers, their lovers... Either way, any and every single VIP member or guest was bound to the mafia one way or another. These rooms weren't only for gambling, they were for business and pleasure. This Friday night, for example, there was supposed to be an auction. Some traffickers had called regarding new 'stuff', quality 'stuff' and Lovino just knew how interested his fellows would be. However, the event was delayed by a few days based one of his employee's warning. Now, Lovino wasn't the one to get orders from his employees - he was the head of the clan, dammit! -, but this particular girl proved to be right with her warnings. Where she got her information from, she wouldn't tell; it was always 'that's my little secret'. He didn't like secrets. Normally, he would have forced the truth out her mouth or just kill her on the charge of being a spy for the police. She was an exception, though. She had given him no reason to doubt her loyalty, apart from that little secret. And her body wasn't anything to leave aside.
...oh, and the tomato bastard. Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, the one who had an irremediable crush on his 'boss', a crush that everyone knew about and even a blind man could see it. Only Lovino couldn't. The annoying Spaniard who would certainly jump in if Vargas wanted to kill off the girl. Why was still a mystery to everyone. Lovino could only assume that he fell for her, a supposition that would have made sense for just one person: himself.
Either way, the selective group was once again gathered into the VIP rooms. Some were playing roulettes, but most occupied the seats around the cards tables. They were the regular members, along with a few lovers. Or one night partners, one could never be sure.
"Gentlemen," a voice breaking the monotony drew everyone's attention. It was thick and hold a hoarse ringing, but the accent was clearly British. Eight gazes turned to the man named Gregory Hart. He was in his early fifties, though his features made him look a few years younger. His hair had grown grey by now, currently slicked back into an old-fashioned style. The time dyed his beard and mustache a darker shade of the same colour. Yet, a sparkle of life, of youth was eagerly burning into those ocean blue eyes. His thin lips parted into a smirk, revealing flashing white teeth. "I think a won again."
Hart pulled a cigar out of the chest inner pocket of his black suit's jacket. His thick eyebrows, the only wild thing of his appearance, knitted together when he couldn't find the lighter. He was about to ask someone for one when his hand brushed over a metallic surface. Satisfied, he quickly grabbed it and lit his cigar. The man sucked a long breath, then released the smoke into small puffs.
"I feel lucky tonight. Would you like another hand?"
And so another round of poker started. Five minutes later, Gregory won again with a royal flush. His voice cracked into a loud laughter.
"What do you think, Amelia? I think you bring me luck!"
A pair of creamy white hands wrapped around the man, embracing him from behind. Rosy full lips approached Hart's ear.
"I think I'm your lucky charm." Her soft voice was dressed in sweet honey as she whispered into her lover's ear, earning a grin from him.
She batted her long eyelashes at the other players, who were throwing jealous glares at Gregory. And they had one hell of a reason to be jealous! Amelia F. Jones was a beautiful young lady, 19 years old and in full blooming. Her cheerful, wild personality contrasting with her attire, she looked like a feline ready to capture her prey. And oh God, how any man at the table would have gladly fell in her trap. The black dress hugged her frame perfectly, cutting a V-shaped decolletage and also a slit from her thigh to the floor, revealing part of a long leg. Ironically, the curves she had always been concerned about making her look fat were emphasised on purpose now. Fox fur lay on her shoulders and bare back - she had always been against natural fur due to animal care, but she had to admit it looked nice. Amber locks were pulled into a simple loop except for two strands flowing in waves down, almost to her shoulders. Small earring in shape of white pearls adorned her earlobes, although it was a gentle touch. To complete the pictures, add a pair of delicate stiletto with the heels of 10 cm. Oh, and there was also a golden ring with a small stone in the middle - the first gift she had received from Gregory.
Now, Amelia wasn't an easy woman, nor a gold digger. She would have lied to say she was in love with this man. She held some kind of affection for him, though it couldn't be describe as that kind of love. She had always liked older guys, but this one was old enough to be her father. The sad truth was that she pretended to love him from the bottom of her heart for his wealth. She had her reasons, though, which weren't purely out of selfishness. More likely, out of tiresome. Plus, Hart acted like a gentleman most of the time. He had always been kind, understanding and protective. She didn't recall one moment when she didn't feel safe around him, although some of the people he was hanging out with were giving her the creeps. Oh, well, as long as he wasn't like them...
Perhaps she made the right choice when she accepted his advances. Sure, she wasn't into the whole sophisticated thing, but she could handle it. A few times even, playing the lady proved quite funny.
"How much?" One of the men at the table finally voiced his desires. "How much do you want for a night with her?"
That crossed the line. A deep frown darkened Hart's features as he opened his mouth to speak. However, he was cut off before any word came out.
"What was that, asshole?" It was times like this when her ladylike attitude slipped off. It didn't seem to bother her partner, though. "C'mon, say that again!" She was ready to kick that guy's ass and couldn't care less about what anyone in the casino had to say about it. What the jerk didn't know was how right he was about the feline thing - while she was not after a prey, she was as dangerous as a predator when angry. Former and current colleagues or neighbors could confirm it.
The mob who made the offer seemed taken aback for a moment, clearly not expecting a comeback. Then he gritted his teeth, preparing a sharp reply of his own. He was not going to let a little girl act like that to him. Well, he wasn't until the casino's owner came to the table. Whether it was to calm the spirits or to kill some time wasn't clear, but chances were for the latter.
"Are we playing or what?" The Italian snapped, lowering into one of the chairs and tapping his fingers on the table impatiently.
Lovino was pissed, Amelia noticed. Well, he was always pissed. He just looked more pissed than usually. Did the Spaniard do some again? Judging by the way Antonio headed outside, shoulders slumbered and head down, he did. Nothing unusual.
Francis was a pain in the arse - Arthur could say that much. He had been talking about things which the Brit didn't need to know about for their whole trip to the casino. It would provide some good material for nightmares... For a whole week of sexual nightmares. The younger shivered at the thought. Glad that they had finally reached the place - even more glad that he had a reason to make the Frenchman stop speaking or at least change the subject -, Kirkland rushed towards the entrance. As expected, two guards stood by the door. No, three.
Weren't there supposed to be two?
On one side stood a large man, smoking and...wearing a mask? Arthur quickly disregarded the thought - unimportant details. He looked like trouble, but they had a few more agents with them, so if things turned for the worse, it should have been easy to put him down. On the other side, a Spaniard leaned against the wall. Words rushed out his mouth - by the looks of it, the massive guy didn't even bother to understand Spanish, while the female in the middle seemed to try to figure out what he was saying, though failing miserably. At a closer scan, the whining one wasn't wearing a guard uniform.
There were two guard, after all.
As the agents approached, the female appeared to have noticed them. She cut off the Spaniard and whispered something, then the man went inside. She took a last drag of her own cigarette, then dropped it on the ground, crushing it under her boot. A woman working as a guard - fact confirmed by the uniform and combat boots - was a rare sight, although the blonds couldn't honestly say that he ever saw her as feminine. Well, maybe Francis did, if flirting was included.
"Arthur. Francis." A confident grin adorned her features as she looked at the two. "Good to see you around." The Frenchman smiled pleasantly, while Kirkland just ignored her. Partly because of that, she placed her hand between the Englishman and the door.
"Maria." He warned.
"Invitation." She smiled sweetly. "Please."
With obvious displeasure, he pulled out the search in warrant. "This is my invitation. Good enough? Let me pass."
"Bossy much?" She snatched the paper, apparently checking if it was real or just fake. Maria took her time, although she knew it was valid. The act's whole purpose was gaining time. She could heard the detective's impatience growing. Finally fixing her eyes on him again, she handed back the mandate. "I'd rather have you not shooting anyone, though."
"Unless necessarily."
"Geez, why did you do?" She asked Francis once the angry agent entered.
"Just called him 'Sexy Legs' Kirkland and teased him a little."
The spirits calmed down, although Amelia occasionally glared at that one jerk. Right when another round was over, Antonio stormed inside. He walked straight to Lovino, leaning over a little to whisper something to his ear. The Italian frowned, barking a few words in his mother language. The American wasn't sure whether Antonio understood what his boss was growling, but she knew she didn't. With a roll of his eyes, Lovino stood up.
"We close earlier tonight. Hurry up and get out."
Vargas exchanged knowing looks with the people in the room, whom nodded and reluctantly made their ways to the door. Amelia stared at the owner, not understanding why he just kicked them out. Something was off. But what was that something? She didn't have time to figure out what was wrong, as she felt a hand on her lower back.
"We should go."
Something in Gregory's voice betrayed urgency. It wasn't a suggestion. It was an order. There was no room for question or denial. He must have known something. Amelia reluctantly listened, but made a mental note to interrogate him later. It was way too strange to be overlook. And then, the door burst open and cops stormed in.
A/N: That's it for now. I hope it wasn't too boring, but I had to make a little introduction.
Reviews are always appreciated.