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heroescutiesTitle: The Adventure of the Famous Fiddler (4/5) [FF.net] [Previous Chapters]
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Genre: Adventure/Mystery/Romance
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: America/England
Word Count: 1,544
Summary: When a famous friend of America's mysteriously disappears, England puts his detective skills to the test. Helping America through his grief while unraveling clues, the two must work together to find out what has become of the missing fiddler. [England POV]
“It says right here, Mr. Chafley has to be in…”
Before he could say it, a person with a deep voice cleared their throat right behind us. Jerking around, we both stood face to face with a tall man, who was clearly not there as part of the police detection.
“Who the hell are you?” He asked, glaring at both of us.
I was about to step forward and explain the circumstances that had brought us here when America, with a flash of shock and determination in his eyes, stepped in front of me, holding his arm out to keep me back.
With steel in his voice, he leveled the man a look. “That’s what I should be asking you, Sir.”
The man before us was of average height, with brown hair that was graying near the temples and a sturdy jaw line. His dress was of a manner that made it quite clear that he was no random passing ruffian, but someone with importance.
With a fierce look in his eye, he snorted, “Who am I? I’m Robert Chafley.”
America shot a look at me over his shoulder at that, and I immediately realized why he was on the defense. If this really was the Robert Chafley we were seeking, he would know who America was.
“Bullshit,” America hissed, taking another step towards the man.
“Excuse me? You are in my house. I should call the police I just sent off back right away and have them arrest you.”
I didn’t know what America knew that I didn’t; but I trusted that he had a very valid reason for going on the attack against this man instead of just asking him outright why he didn’t recognize him. As if to indicate my support, I placed a gentle hand on his shoulder as he continued to face off against this supposed Robert Chafley.
“Well they can take you as well then. Because unless you've gotten amnesia and a major personality change, you aren’t the Mr. Chafley I knew. In fact, you don’t even know my name, do you?”
Certainly enough, I could see the shocked look on the man’s face; America had hit the nail on the head, this man wasn’t who he appeared to be.
America crossed his arms, his confidence back full-force. “That’s what I thought. Which means one of three things: Either you body snatched Mr. Chafley; something I doubt because Tony has told me the symptoms of that and you aren’t matching up. You’re a clone. Or…”
He stepped forward and leveled the man a hard stare, eye to eye.
“What if, the Robert Chafley as I knew him wasn’t the only fiddler in his family? If in fact, he had a twin brother who faked his death so that they could both be famous fiddlers and still have plenty of vacation time. And now, you’ve decided to retire and Robert isn’t happy about that. Now it was his turn to fake his death, so he could carry on without you.”
Although it was a very serious accusation, I could see the disbelief in the false Robert’s eyes at this. Seeking to try and get to the bottom of this with his cooperation, I spoke up, “Um, no offense, but that’s a little sci-fi/comic book in theory there, Alfred.”
“Actually,” the man began; his voice a less booming timbre now, “he’s exactly right.”
It was my turn to be thunderstruck, but before I could voice a word, he continued, “For my brother, fiddling is everything in the world to him. I loved it too, for a time, but well…” The gentleman rubbed a hand against his graying temple. “It’s been so long, and living a shared life with my brother hasn’t exactly been easy. We got in a fight when I told him I wanted to retire, lost my favorite car over it.”
America blinked. “So then, the car in the lake…”
“He was trying to drive away when we were fighting, said he had a performance to get to. In the following argument, he stepped out of the car to confront me. The parking brake wasn’t on and it was already on an incline so…”
“It just rolled right into the lake,” I found myself saying. Suddenly, a lot of the clues I was as of yet unable to figure into my theory were beginning to fit.
“Just had enough time to grab his best fiddle out of the seat,” the man clarified.
It was obvious that this implication that his friend and mentor was recently seen alive significantly brightened America’s mood. But despite how all the pieces were falling into place, there was but one question left to me. “If you’ll pardon my asking, but who are you really and where is the Robert my friend knew?”
He snorted. “I am the real Robert Chafley. After our parents died, we moved here to the United States. That’s when my brother adopted his stage name. When we both decided to masquerade as Robert, there was no way to trace him back to his real name. Alexander Chafley ceased to be from that point onward.”
"Then Alexander, the Mr. Chafley I knew..." America looked hopeful.
It was as if, at that moment, something clicked within Robert's mind; as if the shock of finding us here was now connecting with something else inside his thoughts. His eyes widened and he looked, really looked, at America.
"You must be his student, Alfred," he stated, as if he knew not to question it because it was so blatantly obvious to him now that he'd made the connection. "Alex told me you might drop by. Said you had a habit of inviting yourself over for lessons. I'm terribly sorry though, my brother, he's...gone."
"Gone?" America echoed, torn between confusion and grief.
"I don't know what happened. After we had our disagreement, he ran inside and hastily filled a suitcase and just...walked off. That's why I've been missing myself for the last few days. I'd rented a car and gone looking for him."
I saw America take a deep breath, clearly trying to gather the nerve to ask about the one last clue we held. Everything else had come into play- the missing fiddle, its case, the car in the lake, and now the hastily grabbed clothing and suitcase. Clasping America's hand, I spoke up from beside him.
"Mr. Chafley, have you perchance looked in Branson, Missouri?"
He blinked. "Should I have?"
Beside me, America sighed in relief. Our last hope still remained for now.
With a nod, I held up the paper we'd found, "It seems your brother had, well for lack of a better way to put it, planned his destination. Or at least, we're hoping that's what this means."
"Branson, well...he had joked about that at one point earlier in our career. Said we could always play Branson when we got old and washed up."
I swallowed hard and held out the paper to him. It felt right, seeing as the brothers had parted on ill terms, that I gave him this chance to reconcile first. "Perhaps you should try this number then? It's the only recourse we have.”
After a slight moment’s hesitation, he took the slip of paper from me. If the fact it was an imprint of writing surprised him, the rest of the matter too overwhelmed him for the shock to show on his face. With a single nod, he cleared his throat and stepped past us to the phone on the desk corner, which he flipped on to speakerphone so the conversation could be heard by all in the room. As he dialed, I felt America’s hand slip into mine. This was the moment of truth, the final clue and our last hope. I gave his hand a squeeze, and glanced over to see his strained look as he waited with bated breath for our answers.
“Hotel Grand Victorian, Branson, Missouri- how may I help you?” I could hear the cheerful receptionist’s voice say over the line. Robert held his breath a moment before asking.
“I was calling to see if you had an Alexander Chafley as a guest.”
“One moment please.”
The next few seconds felt like hours to me, and I can only surmise how horrid a wait it was for Robert and America, being as they personally knew the missing man. After what seemed like forever, the pleasant voice on the other end of the line said the one thing we dreaded most.
“I can’t find anyone by that name on our list.”
My eyes went immediately to America, because I’d felt his body physically go slack as the words echoed in the small office. And while I could not hear a single sound from him, it seemed like he was mouthing the word ‘no’ over and over, as if the magnitude of the situation had left him mute.
I had reached up an arm behind him, pulling him against my side, and was about to say some comforting words to express hope that I no longer felt. But all those sentiments died on my lips as Robert’s trembling voice asked one more question.
“Can you check under another name? What about Fletcher O’Bray?”
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Genre: Adventure/Mystery/Romance
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: America/England
Word Count: 1,544
Summary: When a famous friend of America's mysteriously disappears, England puts his detective skills to the test. Helping America through his grief while unraveling clues, the two must work together to find out what has become of the missing fiddler. [England POV]
“It says right here, Mr. Chafley has to be in…”
Before he could say it, a person with a deep voice cleared their throat right behind us. Jerking around, we both stood face to face with a tall man, who was clearly not there as part of the police detection.
“Who the hell are you?” He asked, glaring at both of us.
I was about to step forward and explain the circumstances that had brought us here when America, with a flash of shock and determination in his eyes, stepped in front of me, holding his arm out to keep me back.
With steel in his voice, he leveled the man a look. “That’s what I should be asking you, Sir.”
The man before us was of average height, with brown hair that was graying near the temples and a sturdy jaw line. His dress was of a manner that made it quite clear that he was no random passing ruffian, but someone with importance.
With a fierce look in his eye, he snorted, “Who am I? I’m Robert Chafley.”
America shot a look at me over his shoulder at that, and I immediately realized why he was on the defense. If this really was the Robert Chafley we were seeking, he would know who America was.
“Bullshit,” America hissed, taking another step towards the man.
“Excuse me? You are in my house. I should call the police I just sent off back right away and have them arrest you.”
I didn’t know what America knew that I didn’t; but I trusted that he had a very valid reason for going on the attack against this man instead of just asking him outright why he didn’t recognize him. As if to indicate my support, I placed a gentle hand on his shoulder as he continued to face off against this supposed Robert Chafley.
“Well they can take you as well then. Because unless you've gotten amnesia and a major personality change, you aren’t the Mr. Chafley I knew. In fact, you don’t even know my name, do you?”
Certainly enough, I could see the shocked look on the man’s face; America had hit the nail on the head, this man wasn’t who he appeared to be.
America crossed his arms, his confidence back full-force. “That’s what I thought. Which means one of three things: Either you body snatched Mr. Chafley; something I doubt because Tony has told me the symptoms of that and you aren’t matching up. You’re a clone. Or…”
He stepped forward and leveled the man a hard stare, eye to eye.
“What if, the Robert Chafley as I knew him wasn’t the only fiddler in his family? If in fact, he had a twin brother who faked his death so that they could both be famous fiddlers and still have plenty of vacation time. And now, you’ve decided to retire and Robert isn’t happy about that. Now it was his turn to fake his death, so he could carry on without you.”
Although it was a very serious accusation, I could see the disbelief in the false Robert’s eyes at this. Seeking to try and get to the bottom of this with his cooperation, I spoke up, “Um, no offense, but that’s a little sci-fi/comic book in theory there, Alfred.”
“Actually,” the man began; his voice a less booming timbre now, “he’s exactly right.”
It was my turn to be thunderstruck, but before I could voice a word, he continued, “For my brother, fiddling is everything in the world to him. I loved it too, for a time, but well…” The gentleman rubbed a hand against his graying temple. “It’s been so long, and living a shared life with my brother hasn’t exactly been easy. We got in a fight when I told him I wanted to retire, lost my favorite car over it.”
America blinked. “So then, the car in the lake…”
“He was trying to drive away when we were fighting, said he had a performance to get to. In the following argument, he stepped out of the car to confront me. The parking brake wasn’t on and it was already on an incline so…”
“It just rolled right into the lake,” I found myself saying. Suddenly, a lot of the clues I was as of yet unable to figure into my theory were beginning to fit.
“Just had enough time to grab his best fiddle out of the seat,” the man clarified.
It was obvious that this implication that his friend and mentor was recently seen alive significantly brightened America’s mood. But despite how all the pieces were falling into place, there was but one question left to me. “If you’ll pardon my asking, but who are you really and where is the Robert my friend knew?”
He snorted. “I am the real Robert Chafley. After our parents died, we moved here to the United States. That’s when my brother adopted his stage name. When we both decided to masquerade as Robert, there was no way to trace him back to his real name. Alexander Chafley ceased to be from that point onward.”
"Then Alexander, the Mr. Chafley I knew..." America looked hopeful.
It was as if, at that moment, something clicked within Robert's mind; as if the shock of finding us here was now connecting with something else inside his thoughts. His eyes widened and he looked, really looked, at America.
"You must be his student, Alfred," he stated, as if he knew not to question it because it was so blatantly obvious to him now that he'd made the connection. "Alex told me you might drop by. Said you had a habit of inviting yourself over for lessons. I'm terribly sorry though, my brother, he's...gone."
"Gone?" America echoed, torn between confusion and grief.
"I don't know what happened. After we had our disagreement, he ran inside and hastily filled a suitcase and just...walked off. That's why I've been missing myself for the last few days. I'd rented a car and gone looking for him."
I saw America take a deep breath, clearly trying to gather the nerve to ask about the one last clue we held. Everything else had come into play- the missing fiddle, its case, the car in the lake, and now the hastily grabbed clothing and suitcase. Clasping America's hand, I spoke up from beside him.
"Mr. Chafley, have you perchance looked in Branson, Missouri?"
He blinked. "Should I have?"
Beside me, America sighed in relief. Our last hope still remained for now.
With a nod, I held up the paper we'd found, "It seems your brother had, well for lack of a better way to put it, planned his destination. Or at least, we're hoping that's what this means."
"Branson, well...he had joked about that at one point earlier in our career. Said we could always play Branson when we got old and washed up."
I swallowed hard and held out the paper to him. It felt right, seeing as the brothers had parted on ill terms, that I gave him this chance to reconcile first. "Perhaps you should try this number then? It's the only recourse we have.”
After a slight moment’s hesitation, he took the slip of paper from me. If the fact it was an imprint of writing surprised him, the rest of the matter too overwhelmed him for the shock to show on his face. With a single nod, he cleared his throat and stepped past us to the phone on the desk corner, which he flipped on to speakerphone so the conversation could be heard by all in the room. As he dialed, I felt America’s hand slip into mine. This was the moment of truth, the final clue and our last hope. I gave his hand a squeeze, and glanced over to see his strained look as he waited with bated breath for our answers.
“Hotel Grand Victorian, Branson, Missouri- how may I help you?” I could hear the cheerful receptionist’s voice say over the line. Robert held his breath a moment before asking.
“I was calling to see if you had an Alexander Chafley as a guest.”
“One moment please.”
The next few seconds felt like hours to me, and I can only surmise how horrid a wait it was for Robert and America, being as they personally knew the missing man. After what seemed like forever, the pleasant voice on the other end of the line said the one thing we dreaded most.
“I can’t find anyone by that name on our list.”
My eyes went immediately to America, because I’d felt his body physically go slack as the words echoed in the small office. And while I could not hear a single sound from him, it seemed like he was mouthing the word ‘no’ over and over, as if the magnitude of the situation had left him mute.
I had reached up an arm behind him, pulling him against my side, and was about to say some comforting words to express hope that I no longer felt. But all those sentiments died on my lips as Robert’s trembling voice asked one more question.
“Can you check under another name? What about Fletcher O’Bray?”
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