A Hitman's Miss

Chapter Nine

or, Information Gathering

America was disgruntled. He had finally remembered to call West, but instead of getting a crisp and clear report, the man had insisted that they meet in person, to avoid any wire taps. What was more annoying was that America appreciated the wariness, and that meant that he couldn't justify not going! He didn't like traveling far if he couldn't help it.

But, clothes for Russia were on the agenda, and if things went right, this would be the perfect opportunity to steal back what was rightfully his.

"So, clothes?"

America nodded.

"I do not have many dollars."

America sighed. "You can pay me back eventually, if you feel the need." He didn't like being so generous with his funds, but he had been saving up for a long time and not spending it on a nice house or clothes or even basic medical care for himself, for some reason or another, so he might as well spend it in this ultimate plan of his. It wasn't because he liked the kid at all, that would be stupid.

His mind drifted back to that morning, however, when he woke up nearly smothered by Russia and maybe even enjoying-- No, he was leaving that alone and all of its frightful implications. He was distinctly not queer. He just wasn't all that interested in marrying a woman.

That's all.

He lit a cigarette.

"Ah, here we are..." America drawled, gesturing with the lit cigarette to the sign of the store, and he watched with a fair bit of satisfaction as Russia looked in at the clothes, bright eyed and eager for such luxuries.

"Will they have my size?" Russia asked, suddenly stepping back from the window and its mannequins. America realized the concern as he looked up at Russia's massive frame.

"Ah, well... If the pants don't fit, call 'em capris. Come on."

Russia followed along, right at America's heels, as the native browsed the racks for some simple, discrete jeans and a shirt or two.

"You alright with white?"

"Да." (Yes.)

"Oh, here's a nice button up--..." America picked up the black, collared shirt, and held it up to Russia. Russia would probably burst the thing's buttons, on second thought. America put the shirt back with a slightly redder face, and finally found a larger one of a similar make. "Best t'stay away from colors for you. Or just stick with neutrals."

Russia nodded studiously, but it wasn't as if America had seen him wearing a color other than black or brown.

"Alright, try these jeans on, tell me if they don't fit, and then try on the shirts."

"This is 'fashionable?'"

"Fashion is different from blendin' in. If I wanted you t'be fashionable, you'd stick out like a flashlight in the sewer," America huffed. "Here, I'll take your coat."

Russia seemed satisfied with that, shouldering off his coat as he stepped into the changing room, and America took it eagerly.

The moment that the curtain was closed behind Russia's back, America took the sunglasses out of the coat's pocket, and slipped them into his own jacket's. Then, he laid the coat next to him.

"I'll have t'run any minute, though..." America said off-handedly.

"Why?" Russia said. America looked at the space under the curtain as Russia's clothes dropped to the floor.

"Oh, well, ah, that call I made? I've gotta meet someone later."

Russia paused for a moment. "'West' person?"

America blinked. "How'd you know?"

"I saw the note on your computer."

America was somewhat concerned by that. Russia was very observant. How many connections had he drawn that America hadn't wanted him to? America would have to be more on guard.

"Yeah, West is an old friend from college," America said, drumming his fingers across his thigh.