(A/N: Hey, guys! Here is the eleventh chapter of Verdict.

This chapter is pretty intense, as chapters of this story go, but it includes more Ivan and more drama! Now that things have kicked off between Roderich and Gilbert, there's plenty of plot to unfold to test the both of them.

Hope you enjoy!)

"What did you say?"

"I...I'm sorry, sir..." The voices in the dark spoke in Russian, all of them. "We could not...there was nothing we could do..."

"We send a threat directly to the chief of police, and yet the investigation has not been called off...?" The boss examined the barrel of his pistol and smiled one of his innocent little smiles. "I suppose I couldn't expect any less from Arthur Kirkland. He is stubborn...but we shall break him." He laughed, a short, high-pitched, surprisingly sinister sound. "If we can get the mayor to call off the investigation himself...ooh, perhaps we can even provoke a pardon from him, if we use the right...leverage..."

Ivan Braginski picked a sunflower from the tall vase at the center of the table and pressed it to his lips. The other tall, yellow blooms were blocking his face from the view of his henchmen. They sat in a row across from him, shivering in fear.

"L-leverage, sir?"

"Da, leverage." Braginski examined the gun again with his flat violet eyes, his air almost childlike as he held the flower close to his face. "Do you know what I might mean by that, Petrov?"

"W-well, sir..." mumbled one of the men across from him. He was blonde, perhaps in his mid-thirties. The bare light made him look almost sickly. "We...I...if it wouldn't be too presumptuous..."

"It's not." Braginski raised an eyebrow. "Come now, you must have some sort of idea."

"I-I...s-s-sir, w-we could...th-threaten the mayor..."

Braginski laughed again. "Threaten him how?"

"W-w-w-we could send him...a-a-a d-death threat...o-or—"

Braginski listened mutely for just a moment. Then he slowly lowered the Russian-made pistol at Petrov and pulled the trigger. BANG. The other four lackeys jumped, the whites of their eyes flashing like frightened animals as they jerked away from the victim, shaking in horror. Petrov's entire body stiffened, then slumped forward, the bullet wound in his forehead leaking red. The boss looked up slowly, his eyes in shadow, and gestured to the guards at the door with a little jerk of his head; the men moved forward, picked up the limp body, and removed it from the room with silent efficiency.

"Any better ideas?" Braginski asked, his voice just as smooth and almost cheerful as it had been a moment before.

The four men in the chairs were silent.

Braginski's lips formed into a pout. "Do I have to shoot all of you?"

"We could assassinate him!" one of the men cried out.

"Hmmm..." Braginski looked thoughtful, examining his still-smoking gun. "I've thought of that. Any other ideas?"

"S-sir, w-we could...we could kidnap him!" one of the men barked desperately.

"Kidnap who? The mayor?"

"Ye-yes, sir! I mean, no, sir, I mean..."

"Don't be scared," Braginski teased with a smile. "No, I don't think kidnapping the mayor would work...he is too resilient..."

"O-of course! I-I'm sorry, please...we should just shoot him..."

Braginski made a slicing gesture with his hand, and the lower mobster fell silent.

"Don't be so unsure of yourself. Stick to your original plan, it's a good idea. In fact, it was just what I was thinking," Ivan said, leaning back and setting the gun on the table. A soft, collective sigh of relief echoed from the four on the opposite side of the table as their boss examined the sunflower in his hands. "But what if it wasn't the mayor...? What if it was...someone close to him...?"

"His brother is already dead..." one of the men piped up.

Braginski laughed malevolently. "Oh, I know," he cooed. "I meant someone else...someone he cares about...someone like..."

He peeked over the flower and smiled.

"Arthur Kirkland."

There was a momentary silence as Braginski allowed this response to sink in.

"The...chief of police?" one of the men asked tentatively.

"Yes, just the man we need." Braginski smirked. "Comrade Beketov. Comrade Blotski."

The two men in question stiffened and looked up.

"Bring me Arthur Kirkland. I want him here within two days. Do not fail." The darkness that weighed on the last three syllables foreshadowed the consequences waiting for Beketov and Blotski should they be unsuccessful.

Rising immediately, the two men saluted their leader and hurried from the room, excited and relieved to be free of Ivan Braginski's dark aura. Not a word was spoken between them until they were out of earshot of Braginski and the two remaining men, who had not yet been murdered or assigned a task.

There was a brief lull after the door clicked closed before Braginski spoke once more. "And what about my sister...? Any news?"

"She has escaped from jail, sir, but we have located her."

"And do Kirkland and our most distinguished Mayor Jones still insist on pursuing her...?" Braginski plucked a single petal off the sunflower.

"Yes, as does District Attorney Edelstein, sir," the more confident of the two cronies added.

"Does he?" Braginski raised his eyebrows. "That Austrian pest needs to learn his place." There was a sudden edge to his voice, a knife of frustration that made the men across from him jump. Ivan's hands tightened on the stem of his sunflower until it nearly snapped; the men could hear the sound of his leather gloves squeaking from the pressure. "He is going to put that filthy piece of scum Gilbert Beilschmidt in jail for the rest of his miserable life, and nothing more. Hah! Thinking he can take on me. The fool." He shook his head and ran a hand through his beige hair, tilting his face up towards the bare bulb swinging above them. The stark white light cast his face in an eerie contrast of pale skin and ominous shadow, and the men shivered; the way the light illuminated Braginski's fair hair made him look like an avenging angel.

"What would you like us to do...sir?"

Braginski looked contemplative for a moment. "I want you," he said slowly, "to teach Roderich Edelstein a lesson. Remind him where he shouldn't meddle." A dark smile crossed the Russian's face as he plucked another petal from the sunflower and allowed it to drop, watching the glimpse of yellow spiral lazily through the air.

"We shall show this city who is really in charge here."

Roderich Edelstein was in a surprisingly good mood.

It was an unfortunate fact of the District Attorney's reality that he simply was not a happy man. He had never led a life that was truly happy, and, though capable of optimism, Roderich's outlook on life was overall rather cynical. He had been plagued by depression at different points during his life, and between the restriction and repression he had endured over the course of his existence, Roderich had never been a particularly cheerful individual.

However, this evening, he was practically aglow with happiness. At that moment, it didn't matter that Gilbert Beilschmidt was his defendant and that Roderich was supposed to be building a case against him. What mattered was that he had fixed things with Gilbert himself. He would see him again...he would...

Roderich sighed lightly, his violet eyes drifting up towards the sky. There were few streetlamps or harsh lights on in this part of town, and the sky was clearer, darker. The most resilient stars were visible, little pinpricks of white winking down at him, and the moon hung, full and round, just above the tops of the buildings, like an opal set in velvet. It was beautiful, Roderich reflected, clasping his hands behind his back. There was something about the night that set him at peace, something in the darkness and the way it revealed all the mysteries of the sky. Roderich had a fondness for stargazing; it was unfortunate that his opportunities to do so were limited, living in a city, but...

There were always places where the lights were almost unnoticeable, where the sky was as close to clear as it got without leaving the city entirely. He would have to take Gilbert there someday—

"Good evening, District Attorney."

Roderich froze. The familiar click of a pistol being loaded resounded in the darkness behind him.

"I'll have to ask you not to move."

The voices were deep, confident, and accented – he guessed it was Eastern European, Ukrainian or...

Russian...

Braginski.

Roderich raised his hands slowly, wondering if Braginski meant to have him shot right here. His heart pounded in his chest. He wasn't ready to die. Not now. He couldn't...not after...he had so much he had yet to do! Roderich knew the risks of being elected District Attorney in a city so infected by crime, but...he was not ready. He was still afraid to die.

His composure hardly shifted. Best not let them know you are afraid, Roderich. You are strong. Perhaps they won't shoot you...

"Are you going to kill me?" he asked calmly, forbidding his voice from shaking.

A second voice behind him laughed. "Nyet, good Mr. Edelstein, those aren't the boss's orders." He felt two pairs of hands twist his arms behind his back and the unfamiliar coldness of the gun against his temple. The two men – both significantly larger than Roderich – dragged him bodily into the nearest alley, out of sight, and shoved him against the wall, his face in the dirty bricks of the side of a building. Roderich repressed a shiver of revulsion.

"What do you want?" His voice was becoming less calm by the moment, as much as he tried to hold it together.

"You're acquainted with the Kitchen Knife Murders?"

"Of course I am," Roderich hissed. "I was to prosecute, before the suspect broke free. I had half of a case ready."

"Well, Mr. Edelstein," one of the men snarled in his ear, "we can't have you doing that. It's not your place in this story to go poking your nose where it doesn't belong." The man that was now chiefly holding him shoved him harder against the wall. Roderich winced. Story? "You see, your...suspect, Natalya Arlovskaya, is Ivan Braginski's little sister...and he doesn't take kindly to the idea of his baby sister being locked up in prison. He's only got one sibling left. I'm sure you can understand his motivation."

"I do not take orders from Ivan Braginski," Roderich snapped. His own Austrian accent was becoming harsher and more prominent as his anxiety level rose. "Natalya Arlovskaya is a felon, and shall be treated as such. It is not my fault she was caught. I welcome it."

"Snotty little bitch, aren't you, Mr. Edelstein?" The title was more mocking than anything, spoken in his ear with venom. "Listen, we don't want to kill you. You're the best DA this city has ever seen, according to the boss. We need you to put away Gilbert Beilschmidt; the boss wants his revenge for the death of his big sister. But we really can't have you meddling where you don't belong..."

Gilbert. Roderich swallowed hard. "So what do you plan to do with me?"

"What will it take to convince you not to prosecute Miss Arlovskaya?"

"Nothing," Roderich snapped. "I shall not be swayed by the threats or requests of scum."

The man behind him hissed and pinned Roderich to the wall. His hand trailed down the smaller man's back until it wrapped around his thigh, pressing into his groin. "I wouldn't be so cocky."

Roderich felt a jolt of fear run through him and tried to jerk away. "R-release me!"

The goon laughed, pressing himself into Roderich's still-clothed backside. "What do you think, comrade?" he barked at the other man. "He's enough like a woman, isn't he? We could make quick work of him."

The other seemed to hesitate. "I-I don't know about this...the boss said threaten him...w-we could beat him up instead..."

"I don't think that'd quite sink in. He's too persistent." The gun trailed down Roderich's face, down his neck, over his shoulder until it pressed against his back. Roderich couldn't breathe. He was frozen in terror, eyes wide, heart racing. No no no no no no no no no...

"But I know something that would...sink in..." The man laughed foully. Roderich heard a fly unzip. Suddenly regaining his ability to move, he thrashed in the man's grip, screaming for help at the top of his lungs, but the man threw him to the ground and pinned him there, hands on his arms, sitting on his midsection. Roderich tried to kick, but the man pinned his legs with his own.

"Zhukov, listen, this isn't what the boss asked us to do!" the second man said with a little bit more urgency. "Let's just give him a few good kicks and get out of here!"

Roderich was consumed by fear. He kicked, he screamed, he thrashed about, yelling curses in German and trying to keep tears from coming to his eyes. This can't happen. This can't happen! Please!

"I want to give him something he'll really remember," Zhukov hissed, jerking Roderich's pants and underwear down almost to his knees. He ripped Roderich's shirt and jacket down until the pale smoothness of his shoulders was visible. Roderich screamed, and Zhukov hit him with the gun. "SHUT UP, you worthless KRAUT!"

"Zhukov, stop!" the other man cried, grabbing the assailant's shoulder – but Zhukov just threw him off and ran his free hand hungrily down the flesh of Roderich's thigh. Roderich thrashed and received a blow closer to the head.

"Quite the body you have...look at these hips...just like a woman." Roderich's indignation flared again, and he snarled, writhing underneath him. "Now, now, don't fight, you'll just make this harder on yourself..." He felt fingers slide across the flesh of his buttocks and bucked in fury, but to no avail. As he felt the man hovering just above him, he squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself—

But the violation never came.

Roderich opened his eyes. The sound of yelling and fighting echoed behind him, but he was too terrified to move; he curled up into himself, trying to cover the bare parts of him but shaking too much to fix his clothes. He felt the tears spring unwillingly to his eyes and let his mind shut down, wall after wall closing around the stronghold of his mind. Shut it out. Shut it all out. You're safe in your head.

And then, Roderich passed out of consciousness.

"Roderich. Roderich. Hey...wake up."

I don't want to.

"Come on...Roderich, please..."

I don't want to wake up...

"Roderich, it's me..."

Go away...

"It's Gilbert."

Gilbert... The name was familiar. Gilbert...right...of course.

Grudgingly, Roderich opened his eyes. His eyelids felt like they were carved from rock. He blinked a few times, slowly, to clear the blur...and there, lingering above him, was the quirky half-smile and warm red eyes of Gilbert Beilschmidt.

"Gilbert..." he managed, his voice humiliatingly weak.

"Hey." The albino's smile widened. "How ya feeling?"

Roderich's consciousness stirred. The events that had occurred just before his blackout rushed back to him, and he felt the walls closing around his mind again. His body shook with the memory and he did not respond.

Gilbert's smile faded slightly, but gained a note of sympathy. "Yeah, I guessed as much...heh...but you're okay now, Rod. You're safe. Okay? Hey, look at me."

Roderich's violet eyes met Gilbert's crimson, and he felt Gilbert's rough fingers interlace with his own, giving him a reassuring squeeze. "Where am I?" he whispered.

"You're at my house. Well...Lud's house." He chuckled slightly. "This is my room, anyway."

"...what? How did I get here?" And, more importantly, who was the one that rescued him?

"Well, uh..." Gilbert pursed his lips. "The alley where you got...attacked...it isn't too far from this place. Lud's a pretty upstanding civilian, so any time there's a disturbance, he's the first man downstairs to check it out...and me, well. I was pretty sure I knew that scream." His smile turned a little wry as he and Roderich simultaneously remembered their confrontations at the county jail. "So we hurried down there as fast as we could. Looks like we got there just in time, huh?"

"You certainly did," Roderich mumbled, looking away.

"We beat the shit out of those two goons and called the cops, but by the time they got there, the guys were gone..." Gilbert frowned. "The police want a statement from you about the attack, though...is that okay?"

Roderich tensed, another lock clicking into place in his head.

Gilbert nodded slightly; the brunette's expression spoke the words Roderich himself could not say. "You've got time," he reassured him. "Just...rest for now, okay?"

Roderich nodded slightly and allowed his eyes to close again, his entire being still exhausted. He was asleep within the minute, Gilbert watching him, listening to his breathing become deeper and steadier.

The silver-haired man smiled softly at the Austrian and leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead before he righted himself. Those bastards will pay for what they did, he hissed in his mind. He could still recall the events of a few hours before, clear as day.

"Gilbert, do you hear that?"

"Hear what, Lud—" It only took Gilbert a second before the screaming reached his ears as well, and he froze. That voice. That was...it couldn't be...

"We've got to go, now. Something's wrong." Ludwig was already at the door, grabbing his jacket and throwing it on. Gilbert leapt to his feet, throwing down his magazine and racing after him. No no no no no. It can't be Roderich. It can't be. He snatched his own jacket off the peg and raced down the stairs after Ludwig, neglecting to even shut the door to the apartment as the two Germans dashed for the door out of the complex.

The evening air was cold, but Gilbert hardly noticed; his mind was fixed on those screams. German curses, cries for help...rough with terror, yes, but undoubtedly, undoubtedly Roderich. "Hurry!" he barked, nearly overtaking Ludwig as the two brothers sprinted towards the source of the sound. They came tearing around the corner and stopped at the mouth of the alleyway, the moonlight throwing their figures into silhouette to the two Russian gangbangers in the alley.

Before the man standing could even react, Gilbert yelled a war cry and flew forward, throwing a well-aimed punch at the crouching man's head. The man fell off of the form below him, rolling over onto his ass as he tried desperately to yank up his pants. But Gilbert didn't give him a moment to prepare. He charged him, grabbed him by the front of his shirt and punched him again and again – in the face, in the stomach, even a sharp kick thrown to the man's exposed groin. The criminal bellowed in pain, trying to fight back, but Gilbert's rage was murderous. "How DARE you, how FUCKING DARE YOU try to hurt him, you piece of SHIT!" Punch. Punch. Punch. The man's nose was gushing blood.

"GILBERT!" He felt Lud's big hands on his shoulders, jerking him back. "Stop it! The last thing we need is you being accused of a crime you actually committed!"

Gilbert was shaking with rage as he stepped away from the man. The beaten goon looked up at him in horror, face bloody, then took off, after the other (thoroughly beaten) mobster who had already escaped.

"They got away," Gilbert hissed. "We have to go after them!"

"Nein," Ludwig grunted. "Gilbert, they're gone. What we have to do now is call the police." He glanced to the fallen form of Roderich, pathetic and half-naked and curled into himself. "Take care of him instead while I phone this in."

Gilbert nodded, falling immediately to Roderich's side. The brunette was unconscious – probably from the shock, Gilbert figured – and his clothes were torn. Heart aching, Gilbert pulled Roderich's pants back up and re-fastened them. He took off the ripped-up shirt and coat and pulled his own jacket over Roderich's shoulders, wiping the man's dirt-streaked face gently. "Roderich," he breathed, "I'm so sorry..."

Carefully, with more dexterity than one might expect from Gilbert Beilschmidt, he took Roderich into his arms and lifted him bridal style, carrying him back into the apartment complex.

Gilbert felt his throat tighten with fury. Those fucking...there wasn't even a name for scum like that. The dregs of the earth. How dare they try to hurt him, HOW DARE THEY...

And worst of all...

Worst of all, he hadn't been there to protect Roderich...

It didn't matter if the man was still supposed to be prosecuting him, Gilbert fucking cared about him. And the fact that he hadn't been there when Roderich needed him...it brought an unspeakable guilt down on him. He had saved him, in the end, but...

Only just in time...you should have been there...

Of course, a part of his mind argued, there was no way he could have known, but...still...

Will he hold this against me? Does he blame me for not saving him sooner? he wondered, hugging himself.

Ludwig was on the phone with the police in the other room again. After a few grunts and brief responses, he hung up, looking a bit alarmed. Gilbert frowned, jerking himself out of his own thoughts. "Hey, what is it?"

"The police can't take this case right now," Ludwig muttered, running a hand through his slicked-back blonde hair.

"What?" Gilbert snapped indignantly. "Why the hell not?"

Ludwig looked up, his blue eyes solemn.

"The chief of police has been kidnapped."

(A/N: AND THE PLOT THICKENS.

There now, you didn't honestly think I'd let anything that horrible happen to Roddy, did you? I love him far too much.

A lot more of the plot should become clear through this chapter and the coming ones, so I hope you all look forward to it. Reviews are much appreciated! See you all next time!)