A/N: Holy crap, this story's still alive! Yeah, I'm sorry... I've been really preoccupied with other projects and this ended up being lower on the priority scale somehow. ^^;

Some new developments and the beginning of the main body of the story.

If Berwald isn't understandable, leave me a comment and I'll see what I can do to fix it.

Chapter 8: Setting Out

Matthew sat beside the albino man, gnawing anxiously at his thumbnail and trying to come up with something to say that could fill the chilly silence. Gilbert was sulking again, staring blankly at the wall across the room.

"Oh come now, mon ami," Francis threw up his hands in exasperation at the other's pointed petulance. "There are much more important things that you might of lost, non?"

"And I'm surprised you haven't already lost them," was the bitter retort coupled with a sharp glare in the Frenchman's general direction. "Shut up, Francis."

"Um…" Matthew struggled with his words before he managed, "At least you're better off than Antonio, right?"

The two other men froze, expressions pained.

"He's got a point," the older blonde said finally, flashing a weak smile at the American. "Povre Antonio…"

"Have we got any news on him?" Throwing his arms over the back of the sofa, the Gilbert unknowingly looped Matthew into his grasp. "Other than he's still alive and relatively stable?"

"Non."

"Figures. The damn hospitals never tell you shit."

"Is Lovino with him, then?"

Francis nodded. "It's quite adorable, really. Such a shame that it took him almost dying to receive so much attention from our little Romano…"

"Tch, no kidding." Cracking a small grin, the German snickered, "How's that fair? I took an actual bullet for the little shit head back home, and I just got yelled at."

"What do you think they're talking about in there?" Matthew broke in, glancing dubiously towards the living room. "Do you think we ought to go in there and listen maybe?"

"If it's important enough, they'll come out and tell us." With this thought, Gilbert's face darkened again. "Not that they'll need me for anything… fucking bastards."

"Still pouting, dude?" Alfred poked his head into the sitting room, regarding the gloomy man with a raised brow. "You know you've got your arm around my brother, right?"

He withdrew the limb quickly, his hand colliding briefly with the blonde's head in its haste to escape.

"Eh, sorry, Matt."

"I-it's no problem." He adjusted his glasses nervously. Then, looking back towards his brother, he asked, "What's going on, Al? Anything new?"

"We're going on a womanhunt," the twin explained. "We've gotta try to track down the Russian asshole's sister and use her as some sorta bargaining chip or something to make him leave Feli the hell alone and all."

"Why's he getting all up in our faces now, anyway?" Gilbert piped up. "I mean, the only thing we've got left is the money. Feli's not actually the head of anything now, 'less you count the greeting staff at the Village Pantry."

"Dude, he's a supermarket greeter?" Grinning like an idiot, Alfred burst out into laughter. "That's so hardcore!"

"That's not answering my question," the albino man grumbled irritably under his breath.

"I dunno – I'm more of a capitalism sorta guy. Thinking like a commie is totally out of my area of expertise."

His brother smirked faintly. "Since when do you have an area of expertise, eh?"

"Oh, Mattie! So cold!"

Coming up silently behind the American, Berwald frowned. "D'd y' t'll 'em?"

"W-well, I was getting to it, big guy!" With a sheepish expression, he cleared his throat. "Y'see, we're splitting up, and the groups are gonna be like this…"

Ludwig tirelessly scanned the highway, driving on despite his inner frustration with his current situation. Somehow, it had been decided that seizing hold of Ekaterina Braginskaya would be the most effective course of action, and that a family road trip of sorts would be the best method of transportation.

The individual slouched against the passenger side window grunted sleepily as the car hit a pothole and jolted him awake. Blinking owlishly, Gilbert yawned. "We still driving?"

"Yes."

"You miss Feli yet?"

A thick-fingered grip tightened on the steering wheel, but the driver chose not to respond. On this mission of sorts, the family had been deployed in small groups to approach the challenge, and Feliciano had been placed elsewhere under the assumption that the Russians would expect him to be with Ludwig (and the former guard quietly cursed the involvement of a certain American in bringing the point to the others' attentions, regardless of the fact that it was probably true). However, the only member of the family Ludwig had trusted enough to protect his beloved heir was the party's second stoic blonde. Even at that moment, Berwald and Feliciano were out somewhere on that same highway – perhaps only a few cars away – but too far for his liking.

"I hope he hasn't got a thing for those big, blond types, hey West?"

"Shut up, Gilbert," Ludwig snapped, perhaps a little more sharply had he'd intended. "I can still make you walk."

The calm, familiar light of streetlights overhanging the highway lapped across the otherwise dark car like ocean waves on the sand. Feeling drowsy and hypnotized by the gentle movement of the illumination, Feliciano rested his cheek against the broad strap of the seatbelt.

"G'tt'n' t'red?" Kind, if somewhat restrained, blue eyes glimpsed him from rounded corners. "We c'n f'nd a h'tel s'mewh're."

"Um, if that's okay with you…"

Berwald smiled faintly, just barely crooking his lips. "Y're th' b'ss, M'st'r R'ma-V'rg's."

"Okay then, I guess we should stop for the night."

As they pulled onto the exit, the brunette snuck a curious glance at his temporary companion. He had a sort of resigned, peaceful feel to him (unlike Ludwig's stern, intense atmosphere), and his gentle manner put Feliciano largely at ease even if the heir still shuddered inwardly at the other's stony expression.

"Do you have a family, Berwald?"

"C'll me Sw'd'n." With a quick bob of his head, the blonde replied, "'ve g't a w'fe 'n' a s'n."

The Italian grinned. "Really? What are their names?"

"T'no 'n' P't'r."

"Tina and Peter?"

"T'no."

"Tano?"

"Tino."

"Ah…" Feliciano tapped his chin thoughtfully. "That's an unusual name."

"H's a p'l't'cian."

"He?"

The driver's ears had become quite pink, but his face remained as unchanged as ever. "T'no's a m'n."

"Then why'd you call him your wife?"

"'s a s'cr't."

"Oh, okay." Whistling along to some unheard melody, the brunette tilted his head suddenly and asked, "Where are they now? Tino and Peter, I mean."

"B'ck h'me 'n F'nl'nd." His gaze became quite distant, and the corners of his mouth tightened. Seeing the lit sign of a hotel, he flipped on his blinker and slid into a turn lane without saying another word.