Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Why Belgium?"

Avdol looked up from his book, eyeing Polnareff across the wooden table after hearing him make the comment. The Frenchman had a hand to his chin, looking out the window aimlessly at the passing countryside their train hurtled through, engine chugging. He had a cup of coffee sat near his elbow on that laminated tabletop, but it was unlikely he'd flag down a steward for anything else given he seemed less than impressed with it. Much like his opinion of Belgium, going by the tone of his voice.

"What's wrong with Belgium?" Avdol baited, eyebrow raised.

"What's wrong with -" Polnareff scoffed. "Where to begin! What's there even to like about it?"

"I mean, there are plenty of historical sites of interest - the country's full of remnants of the Great War. Even just in Ypres, there's the Last Post." He reasoned, lowering his book to rest on the table. "Isn't it famous for its chocolate, too?"

"Ach, Belgian chocolate is nothing!" He waved a hand. "Why go for something barely above average in quality when you could just go to Switzerland for the really good stuff? Calling Belgian chocolate notable is a joke."

Avdol smiled to himself, perplexed by his passion: "I didn't know you held such strong feelings about Belgium."

"Of course I do! And don't think I'm even close to being done. Everyone in Europe knows that Belgium is just France in denial. No, a French-German-Dutch wannabe that doesn't pull off any of them successfully."

"...Is it?"

"Yes!" Polnareff pounded on the table softly, caught up in his rant, and turned the heads of a few nearby passengers. "And besides, everyone there is flat as hell."

"Flat?"

"Come on, you know what I mean: the people there range between stick insects and twigs."

"I'm... Not sure I see what you're getting at."

Polnareff paused, and motioned to his upper body with a look closely adjacent to pride: "I'm saying, you won't find anything as good as this in Belgium."

Though grinning at Avdol when he made the comment, his expression dropped when his companion showed his own: a brief flicker of near morbid surprise (as he realised that Polnareff's voice travelled, and anyone who may have been somewhat listening to the conversation definitely heard the comment - he was certain he heard a sudden cough or two behind him), followed by a sigh that shifted into deadpan disappointment, eyebrows stiff and eyes hard. A 'now is not the time' look. A look that quickly let Polnareff know that 'oh no, I have missed the mark and upset The Spouse™'. A look to tell him that maybe, just maybe, he should reign in his shameless antics and vehement dislike of Belgium while on public transport. Even if Polnareff happened to be right in his statement (he sure knew he was).

He slunk back into his hunched position over the table, head once again in his hand, and Avdol returned to his book; a paperback, because the day that man would be caught brandishing something as precious as a hardback in such a filthy, risky place would be one for the history books. Meanwhile, the scenery continued to coast on by. It was a temperate day in early August, 1993, and the sun shone down brightly to illuminate the tall grass of the hills they passed. The fog from morning had well since cleared, and the day could have even started out as a productive one if the Speedwagon Foundation hadn't shuffled them along into a boxy train carriage and insisted they stay there for five hours. It was another half hour to Ypres. Another half hour of this same old view - beautiful or not, it was still Belgian, and that twisted Polnareff up inside.

"Seriously, though, Belgium?"

"Jean, please."

"No, but really, why the hell would there be an arrow in Belgium? Who would, once getting their hands on an arrow, honestly decide to make haste to the most unremarkable place in the world?"

"Assuming for a moment your notion that there's nothing good about Belgium is correct: if they didn't want people taking it from them - Speedwagon Foundation or otherwise - wouldn't that be the perfect thing to do?"

Polnareff opened and closed his mouth like a guppy, pouting. "Yeah, well... I mean -"

"Of course, you're completely missing the likelihood that our target could actually be Belgian, and just wanted to go home."

"Don't tell me that! I don't want to think about having to interact with a ..." Polnareff cut himself off as he mimed retching. Avdol rolled his eyes, refusing to humour him (and in turn let himself find it humourous).

"Say, what mission are Jotaro and Kakyoin on right now, anyway?" Polnareff tapped the table with a fingertip, changing the subject. "They're also after something this month, right? Until university starts back up?"

"If I remember correctly, they're investigating some lead on an arrow in Miami." Avdol noted, and Polnareff groaned.

"Miami!" He supressed a wail, arms outstretched. "The sun, the sea, the sights! Fast paced action and things to see and do! And here we are -"

"If by the end of that sentence you've included the word 'Belgium' accompanied by something derogatory, I'm going to torch your hair. I'd choose carefully whether or not to continue."

Polnareff pouted further.

"There's nothing worse than Florida on Summer vacation, Jean. The two of them are almost certainly not having a relaxing time." Avdol continued, an attempt at comfort. "I can assure you, you'll have more fun in Ypres with me."

"Oh, really? And can I hold you to that, mon nounours?" He smiled slightly; pitifully.

Avdol smiled back, flipping a page. "I don't see why not."

*

"I can't believe the damn Foundation didn't hire us a car!" Polnareff spat, scuffing his boot against the cobbled sidewalk, his small luggage bag in hand. After catching a coach from the train station, they had been dumped into a large plaza in the heart of Ypres, just after the lunch hour rush. The sun was considering creeping down from a baby blue sky, the breeze chilling ever so slightly as a result.

"It is surprising... But we are only here for the weekend. Besides, our hotel is well within walking distance. Even if we dawdle we'll make it there in plenty of time." Avdol spoke slowly as he looked around him, absorbing in his new surroundings; curiosity already threatened to overflow within him. "In fact, why don't we take this chance? Look around a little? We'll be occupied all evening after all, so we won't have the time."

Polnareff raised a brow, as he nudged Avdol in the shoulder and swept up his luggage in the same motion. "You seem awfully pleased all of a sudden. You better not let yourself be charmed and become some sort of Belgian sympathiser on me!"

Avdol chuckled: "Please. With you around, I wouldn't dream of it. I promise to view everything I encounter in a wholly pessimistic light."

Polnareff hummed, not entirely sure that was a promise he could stick to. "Fine, take all the time in the world if it'll keep you happy," he complied with a hint of a faux groan, and Avdol smiled thankfully. He winked as he continued: "although I'm not sure I could stop you even if I dragged you along by force."

It was a gorgeous day, the stone of the buildings and streets remarkably clean for a city. Even where moss grew in the cracks, or lily pads clogged the small waterway by the side of the road, it looked almost intentional. After his stride when he grabbed up the other bag, Polnareff was forced to slow down straight afterwards in an attempt to match his partner's pace. Even if he just gave him the go ahead to take as long as he wanted, it was slower than he would've chosen.

"Still... "

"Yes?" Avdol had already stopped walking, enamoured with some sign.

"I mean, shouldn't we be moving quickly? We don't wanna get spotted by our target or something."

"With no offence at ourselves, I would personally say we stand out quite a bit already. Our speed will change nothing." He gestured to their clothing. It was their everyday wear, but a little far removed from a tee shirt and slacks; Polnareff's typically upstyled hair was notable enough. "If we pass by them now, them spotting us is more than likely. In that event, wouldn't they be more spooked to see us being hasty, as opposed to taking our time?"

"I guess... But I mean, back to basics; don't we wanna stay unseen in the first place?"

"You talk as if this is some kind of stealth mission." He shook his head, a distant lightness in it. "We're not here to retrieve the arrow, we're here to see if it's here in the first place. It's just a favour to the Speedwagon Foundation. Our target has no reason to think they're even a target at all."

Polnareff pouted: "Yeah, but... " He trailed off, and Avdol moved to put a hand on his shoulder.

"Please, develop some patience for me. It's not like you to worry. Right now, we're tourists! Belgium or not, aren't new places wonderful?" Avdol wasn't smiling out of courtesy or pity this time; he was practically glowing. Though his voice was as level as ever, there were glimmers of excitement in his eyes. "You need to stop and smell the roses, Jean."

Polnareff cracked under that smile, but he couldn't just let him win that easily. "You know, I would, but I doubt roses even grow here - they just wither the moment they realise where they are."

"In that case, why not preoccupy yourself with those daisies?" Avdol slapped him on the back, pointing in the direction of an overgrown patch of lawn near the centre of the plaza. "I know you know how to make daisy chains. Perhaps you could even teach the local children."

Polnareff looked at him sourly, but before he could respond Avdol began to walk away: "Stay nearby; I'm going to confirm with that woman over there the directions to the open house we're attending later."

"Fine, fine." Polnareff rolled his wrist, commenting as he left earshot. "I'll sure you'll find me promptly once I inevitably get into a fistfight with a local."

There were barely any main roads leading into the plaza; for the couple that did terminated and became pedestrianised. The buildings on all sides were tall and of peculiar architecture, with arches bowing over the tops of slimmer alleys. It almost reminded Polnareff of castle courtyards. Weirdly for a city in Summer, there was also only a handful of vendors on the street - purely everyday people walking to and fro, spending a reprieve on a bench or flitting in and out of shops. A slice of life playing out for Polnareff on his own metaphorical dish. He flexed his fingers, tightening to a fist and then extending downwards: it gave him something to do as he quickly realised he didn't have anything to do. For now, he just wanted to check into their hotel, but at the moment he had to settle for standing there awkwardly, waiting for his partner like a child waiting for their mother to finish up a conversation with a friend at the grocery store.

There was a bench less than ten metres from him, along the edge of the greenery, furthermore was occupied by some elderly woman. On any normal occasion Polnareff wouldn't hesitate to stroll right on over and strike up a friendly conversation, but today he stopped himself. Another thing he hated about Belgium was that it seemed to run on three languages, and while his French and English were more than decent his German was functionally nonexistent. (And who speaks Flemish, anyway?) And even worse, they all had their own spins on them; nothing more embarrassing than being unable to understand an accent or slang. If he slid right into that woman's company just to find he had to surrender to the language barrier, he'd crumple on the spot. Probably end up ducking to hide in the folds of Avdol's robes, his ego left sustaining a notable crack for the remainder of the trip.

So that bench was a no-go. Polnareff fixed his hair, occupying his hands as he discreetly (obviously) looked around some more. There was another bench, an empty one, on the other side of the plaza, but trying to casually walk to the other end of the cobbled expanse would look more than robotic. Besides, what if there were some reason nobody was sitting there already? What if he walked on over to find it was covered in bird shit or something? Then he couldn't sit down, and he couldn't walk away either (he couldn't handle the shame of so blatantly admitting defeat). He'd be left loitering at the bird shit bench, unable to advance and unable to turn back, taking up its space yet never actually using it as he waited for someone to end his suffering.

Although Avdol (probably) proposed playing with the daisies as a joke, the small lawn was somewhat enticing. The ground was completely dry, so his outfit was unlikely to suffer from sitting on the grass. But imagining the sight of him as a random stranger that sat around in a public field where children frequented, the locals warning one another of his presence, was a reality he'd want to avoid at all costs. Even in a place he'd hopefully never return to, reputation mattered. There were also the stores littered around, of course, however none of them seemed to have very clearly labelled signs. The few that did were all brands or chains he had never heard of. The last thing he wanted to was wander into some place that Avdol would have to angrily drag him out of, embarrassment practically dripping from his face. They wouldn't have stores like that in a city centre, surely?

Avdol had moved on to talking to someone else. Polnareff frowned. He didn't want to just stand there doing nothing any longer - what sort of man couldn't preoccupy himself when the time called for it? If he truly wasn't brave enough to face any of the benches, he could just pick a nearby shop at random and peruse it for a while. Maybe he would be praised for being adventurous in such dangerous foreign territory. Yes, that sounded like a marvelous idea: scouting out the enemy's resources; learning points of reference; discovering more about the area. That's what he'd do! After sizing up the array of stores nearest to him he entered the one that had the largest windows, puffing his chest out in a display of confidence.

It was a chocolate shop. Of course it was a chocolate shop. The Belgians were one trick ponies, and this was their trick.

Too late now; he had made eye contact with the cashier. As he walked further into that tiny, narrow store, he wondered why he even bothered. The first thing that struck him was how overpriced everything was for what was on offer - ninety percent of what was there didn't look particularly luxurious at all; it was probably all available en masse in supermarkets across the country. From the corner tucked behind the door the cashier just looked at him. No, looked through him. She seemed to be watching him like a hawk, with that service smile on her face, but didn't truly see him. It was as if her only purpose was to take his money and make him feel uncomfortable.

But he would not be defeated! He was in here now, and goddammit he was going to make it look entirely intentional. He smiled at the cashier, whose face gave approximately no response, moreover strolled around the handful of aisles. For an even more convincing display he took to pausing occasionally to make it look like he was actually interested in buying something. (In actuality, his mind was more focused on what he might do once out of this debacle. Unfortunately it seemed like most of the work this weekend would take place in public, and the fact drove Polnareff up the wall. Their trip would go more smoothly if his relationship with Avdol came across as... Platonic, but it was a hard feat. In a city there were eyes always on them; not like the country expanses of his home where no one was around for miles. Polnareff constantly had to remind himself not to overstep the line - a reality that was entirely unfair. What if he wanted to hold his hand! He was just supposed to, what, ignore the urge?)

Wait. He had come in, and with a confident air at that, so he probably would have to buy something, wouldn't he? No one just comes into a completely empty store, spends time in there and leaves with nothing. Being an unfamiliar face to top it off, he'd probably be accused of stealing. The notion made him stifle a groan: he'd have to spend physical, actual money on Belgian chocolate. Belgian. He was beginning to wish he took his chances with the bird shit bench.

There was no way he'd buy crappy stuff - he had some reserves of pride left. It'd just sit in the bottom of his bag for a month until he threw it out. So instead, almost cautiously, he crept up to the shelf at the forefront of the store where the confectionery made on site was held. It... No, he couldn't say it looked good; that was blasphemy. It looked merely acceptable. He probably wouldn't gag if he ate it. 

Of course (a lightbulb flickered in his brain), who said he had to be the one to eat it? It could always be a gift - for someone who was enjoying the country thus far entirely too much. And no matter what it was Polnareff chose, it couldn't go wrong: either Avdol would be delighted with it and Polnareff would get to feel all warm and mushy inside, or he would dislike it and thus prove he held contempt for something Belgian. A win-win scenario.

He kept himself lively by humming to himself as he perused the display. Small box sat next to small box, each the same size but with differently colored motifs depending on the selection. Hell, it was even a decent selection - the dichotomy between the quality just within the two sides of the store was something to be taken aback by. Though he'd never admit it, what stood in front of him now was something that he might've actually consider buying sometime under normal circumstances.

He didn't start looking with any real idea of what to choose, but he knew the right choice when he hit it. Dark chocolate with coffee. That small Boston terrier was home alone for the next few days since he didn't come with them, and perhaps that was for his own good. Polnareff grinned at the idea of Iggy having a moral dilemma at the confectionery: knowing that the chocolate would make him sick, but with the luxury of it containing his favorite flavour. Although, knowing the stubborn mutt, he'd ultimately scarf it all down and earn himself an emergency trip to the vet. He'd probably be wearing a smug smile on his compact face as he did it, too. The idea almost made Polnareff miss him.

A memento of Iggy it was. The box was swiped from the shelf as Polnareff hitched one of the luggage bags under his arm, both of them being placed on the ground when the chocolate reached the cashier's table. 

"Ah, a nice choice." The cashier nodded, lost in her absent-minded smile. "Would you like me to gift wrap it?"

Polnareff took her up on the offer, fishing his wallet out of his pocket as the woman wrapped it up in silver paper. She continued: "Good to see this line is selling even now - they're particularly popular in the winter season."

"What, with Christmas and Valentine's Day?" 

"Exactly. I get a box for my boyfriend every year." She smiled up at him. "Is this for a special someone in your life?"

"...Something like that." Polnareff rubbed a hand along the bare back of his neck, peeking out the front window. Avdol was closer to the shop than he was before, engaging in conversation with some woman with a stroller. He seemed completely in his element, as if astounded by her every word. Although Polnareff would never bring himself to shift quite as far as embracing the people here with open arms, he had to spin on his heels and admit Avdol's childlike fascination with the place was a little more than endearing. 

"Well, I'm sure they'll love it." She said, pushing the neat parcel across the counter back towards him. 

Avdol had flagged down Polnareff once he had paid and left, the woman and her baby long gone: "What have you gotten yourself into this time?"

"I was kidnapped. It was horrible." Polnareff answered immediately. He moved to feign weakness, looking as divaesque as he could: a back of a hand resting daintily on a forehead, among other dramatics.

Avdol snorted. "I see you must have driven them so far up the wall they just let you free."

"I do have my way with words."

"What was in the store?" Avdol bounced the conversation back on track, having noticed Polnareff hadn't come out with any extra bags; the chocolate had been hidden deep into his carry-on, wrapped in a suit jacket.

"Weren't you listening?" Polnareff pouted, rebounding it back off the rails. "It wasn't a store; it was a front for a kidnapping ring." 

"Right, right. My apologies."

"Someone should really deal with that." He shrugged. "But before that, did you get any confirmation about the address or whatever?"

"I did. The locals were more than helpful."

"Oh, I'm sure you just charmed them into making them say what you wanted to hear."

Avdol hummed: "I'd rather spin it as I enticed them to give as accurate an answer as they could. In any case, all we have to do now is drop our stuff off at the hotel and get changed."

"Finally. I could do with getting out of the sun."

"... Although, we could always take the scenic way around."

"Muhammad, I swear to god -"

"Joking."

*

Polnareff rinsed his face with water. Clean water, just the temperature he'd like, coming out of the tap at the perfect water pressure. If the Speedwagon Foundation could do one thing right, it was choosing nice hotels. Nice hotels with excellent bathroom sinks.

While patting his face down with a(n impressively white) towel he simpered at himself in the mirror. He had gotten the chance to freshen up, his hair having been restored to its prime and looking better than ever. Along with the same hairstyle he wore those classic broken heart earrings, but the rest of his outfit had been swapped out. He now donned a tux, a crisp black suit with thick white trim and a bow tie. Bow ties were fun. And though a bitch to knot, they were the pinnacle of style once someone came along and undid them. Of course, Avdol would never let him get away with wearing it like that to a public event, but if Polnareff were lucky maybe he could persuade him into helping undo it for him a little later.

Smoothing out his suit jacket, Polnareff peeked his head out of the bathroom door into the other room. It was a large room, two double beds side by side and neatly made up by the hotel staff (though their bags had been dumped respectively onto one or the other, it really went without saying only one would be slept in). Avdol had been beginning to lay out his clothes in preparation of getting changed when Polnareff had ducked into the bathroom; comparing how quickly he gathered himself in the morning to how many eons Polnareff took in the bathroom made the signs point to that he was likely done by now. Poking his head between the open door and the wall would provide a surefire answer.

Sure enough, Avdol was sitting on the edge of the bed nearer the window, a leg crossed over the over as he skimmed some file. Though most of his jewellery had been removed the sunlight from the orange and pink sky outside bounced off the metal of his arms, providing an effect just as mesmerising. The suit he wore was a little less traditional: a garnet red jacket over a black waistcoat and pair of trousers, backed up with a red tie of the same shade over a cream colored dress shirt. Polnareff could've stood there in the doorway, gazing at him, until the sun rose again tomorrow and then some.

Avdol didn't move his eyes an inch from the text: "Enjoying the view?"

"More than I can put into words." He grinned, goofy, arms swinging as he strolled up to him. "What's that?"

"Briefing, from the Speedwagon Foundation. I wanted to double check I was remembering the details correctly."

"Oh? Quiz me."

Avdol raised an eyebrow: "On which part?"

"All of it." He was feeling cocky. "I betcha I know it cover to cover."

"Jean, I'm not sure you've ever even touched this file's covers." He closed it in his lap, leaning into his gambit.

"Well, I'm sure you've filled me in on all I need to know in the past." Gotcha.

Avdol sighed. "Alright. First of all... Tell me what's notable about our target."

"Let me see," Polnareff plopped himself down on the opposite bed. "lanky and tall, right? German...ish accent."

"You could've also mentioned he's a stand user, but yes," Avdol tacked on. "a little under six foot, around a hundred and sixty pounds, western European, young to middle aged, with an unknown stand ability. That's about all we know about him personally. Next: why are we suspicious of him?"

"Well, because he might have a stand arrow, duh. He was an agent of DIO, right?"

"He was friends with an agent of DIO, but wasn't one personally. However, it was likely he knew of DIO's existence -"

Polnareff clicked his fingers: "Because... Because a little while after the flesh brain squid thingy went off in his friend's brain after DIO's defeat, their apartment was ransacked, and the only one with a key for the front door other than the victim was our target!"

Avdol cocked his head, pausing before breaking out into a smile: "I'm impressed. You were listening."

"What do I win?" He leaned his face closer to his.

He returned the gesture. "More questions. Tell me, what exactly was taken?"

"Ah... " Polnareff furrowed his brow. "A bunch of documents, right? Letters or something."

"A pile of letters exchanged between the agent and Enya, during their time working under DIO." He nodded. "We have no reason to think our target would want their ramblings - unless there were something valuable packed with them."

"Like a stand arrow." Polnareff grinned as the pieces fell into place in his mind. "So, why is our target gonna be at this open house charity thingy tonight?"

"Wasn't I supposed to be the one asking the questions?"

"Hush, you explain things too well for your own good. Keep going."

He huffed. "The agent had agreed to be a continuous sponsor for the event for many years before his death - I think on some sort of favour unrelated to DIO. Once he died his company still agreed to fund the event, and this year his friend stepped up and agreed to attend in his stead."

"So what, we just have to corner him and politely beat any information on the stand arrows out of him?"

"That's... Functionally the plan." He placed the file off to one side. "Don't worry about the guest list. Mister Joestar's real estate company also agreed to sponsor the event, so if anyone questions us, we're merely guests on his behalf."

"And what if we do if our guy's a no-show? Realised we were coming and stayed home, or just got a bad case of the runs or something?"

"Then I suppose we get to spend the night away in a large hall with free champagne and dancing."

"Now that doesn't sound too bad."

"Even if meant staying in Ypres longer to catch him later?"

Polnareff froze, eyes narrowing at him: "Now don't play games with my head, mon nounours."

"Then for you and your head's sake," Avdol laughed, rocking to his feet and outstretching a hand to his partner, "I suggest we get this over and done with as soon as possible."

Polnareff took him up on his offer, sliding their palms together as he got to his feet. His face cracked into a smirk at the touch, and Avdol cocked an eyebrow: "What are you smiling at now?"

"I was just thinking about what a fuss we'll cause once we find this guy." Polnareff laced their fingers together.

"Considering this isn't exactly a casual event, - nevermind the fact we're here under Joseph's name - I'm going to ask you to dial that down to a minor disturbance."

"I don't know." He teased. "I never have been able to resist starting a good kerfuffle."

Avdol rolled his eyes, tsking. "I suppose I have the walk there to talk you out of it, hmm?"

"I'd be warned; I can be very stubborn."

He felt a squeeze on his hand. "Trust me, I know."

Swiping the hotel room's key off of the dresser Avdol led them to the door, their hands still interlocked. That length from the bed to the door was barely over four metres; their stands could poke their heads out through the door if they summoned them to. A pang of melancholy struck Polnareff out of nowhere - once they crossed that short stretch of carpet and entered back into the hallway, they'd have to resume the façade of seeming like incredibly close, definitely heterosexual friends. He wondered if that's how they looked together throughout the crusade and those first months following it, before they both finally cracked under the weight of their feelings and got together. Their journey together with their friends was a fond memory (despite the nearly dying part), but he wouldn't wish to go back to those days where he had the love of his life standing right there next to him, yet he was too distant and oblivious to realise. And if he didn't have to, he definitely wasn't pleased about pretending like he did. 

Avdol placed his hand on the door handle, although before he turned it he looked to his partner, brows downturned. "Is everything alright?"

"I... " Polnareff was a little shocked by how quickly he picked up on the slightest shift in his mood, yet felt reassured all the same. "Bluntly, I'm not looking forward to letting go of your hand."

"Oh, come now." He smiled. "It's not like I'm going anywhere."

"See, you've said that before... "

"Jean, we'll have all the time in the world to do whatever we want." He faltered. "Later. For now, we have a place to be and a job to do."

"That doesn't make it any less unfair." He whined, beginning to feel his grip on his partner loosen.

"If you need someone to blame, blame the Belgians."

"Ooh, now that's something I can do." 

A smile crept back onto his face, and Avdol matched it wholeheartedly. Just as Polnareff dreaded their hands parted as quickly as they joined, however Avdol moved his now free hand on an unexpected route to Polnareff's jaw. 

With a small lean forward he guided Polnareff's face closer towards his, planting a chaste kiss on his lips. It was soft, and though almost daringly brief it lingered on his senses: Polnareff felt a rush of butterflies soar up through his torso, and he wasn't sure if he wanted such a feeling to end. Their kiss wasn't something overbearingly passionate, nor was it something dangerous - but what it was was sudden and sweet, and just the boost Polnareff needed.

"Are you ready to go now?" Avdol asked calmly, side eyeing him.

Polnareff fixed his lapels, positively giddy. "I don't know. Is there more where that came from if I am?"

"Why don't we head along and see?" He hummed in response.

The night was alive, the summer air breathing life into what otherwise seemed like a fairly quiet town. People were parked in seats outside cafés; smiling women with flowy skirts sipping at their tea. People were also mobile, some of those they passed slowly making their way home from their evening meal while others were sauntering their way out in search of one. Others simply just walked, no plans present. As time progressed the summer sun held no intentions of saying goodbye just yet, clinging to the fabric of the sky with a brilliant and soft display of color. It made the muted stone of the buildings seem like oil pastel.

It was becoming clearer with each pace that they were nearing in on their destination. The density of the traffic they strolled alongside increased, and those they saw seemed to become more and more formally dressed.

"Have you ever been to something like this?" Polnareff asked, walking around a sign for the event that someone had tactfully placed right in the middle of the path.

"A few. All in New York, though." He responded. "Madam Joestar loves to attend them, and loves to hold her own even more."

"Ahah, so that old man got you roped into a couple?"

"Roped in is a bit of a harsh metaphor," he mused, "though I'm not certain it wouldn't have become literal if I had declined an invitation."

He slung an arm over his shoulder: "Hey, maybe next time I'll cover for you!"

He laughed back: "I'm not sure what would happen that would lead you to attending without me."

The event itself seemed to be at some gallery, although what it was a gallery for was a question that didn't want to be easily answered. Probably all kinds of odd modern art installations, swapped out and rearranged with every season. For now, it did a good job of providing several barely furnished rooms for guests to mingle in, with a large set of stairs outside for others to take a smoke break.

Said guests all roughly fell into the category of 'having too much money'. They shared nothing in common except having all met the requirements for having their names on the guest list, or like in Avdol and Polnareff's case, knowing someone who did. Once inside, soft music of an indeterminate genre played from... Somewhere, almost completely overwhelmed by the bubbling sound of chatter.

"We'll want to stay alert for anyone who seems suspicious," Avdol pointed out as they snaked themselves to a more relaxed portion of the crowd, "but we also don't want to patrol so blatantly that we seem suspicious ourselves."

"So, you're giving the go-ahead to let loose and have fun?"

"Until we figure out where our target is and what kind of stand they have, we should be as uptight as possible." He sighed. "But no, I'm not going to stop you from having fun."

"I don't need to be told twice." Polnareff grinned.

One side of the room had several paintings framed along its wall (all somewhat beautiful, but leaving no lasting impression), while the other had traded its attractions for an impossibly long table of bite sized party food. At one end sat trays of champagne flutes, their numbers already having had a dent knocked into them.

"Woah, look at that." Polnareff beckoned Avdol closer, pointing. "People are really eager to get smashed as early as possible, huh?"

"This does seem to be a more relaxed event, despite appearances." He nodded alongside him. "Since our target is a guest of some importance, as the evening progresses it might just be easier to try and spot who doesn't look drunk."

"If we're lucky he will get drunk. Show his stand off for us to see," Polnareff swiped a vol-au-vent from a nearby plate, "and then clobber."

"Of course, that's hoping he doesn't have a physically powerful stand. The last thing we want is for some drunkard to destroy a wall or harm someone."

"How did this guy get his stand, anyway? I mean, how did he evade getting recruited by DIO if he had one?"

Avdol shrugged: "If I had to place bets, he probably got it after nicking his finger on the arrow his friend had. It supports the link between him having the arrow while not being affiliated with DIO."

"So if we're lucky, this guy hasn't had his stand long."

"I mean, it isn't exactly new. The apartment was stripped around a year ago; apparently it was only this past month the Foundation seemed to get around to caring about what was taken." He looked at Polnareff, having shot him down, and a slight smile on his face. "But he certainly won't be as experienced as us. I doubt he'll even realise what he has coming once it smacks him in the face."

Polnareff picked up another vol-au-vent and passed it to Avdol, proceeding to hold his own outwards: "To our inevitable success, and a night of excitement?"

Avdol raised an eyebrow. "I'm not clinking puff pastry with you; do you have any idea how many flakes that would make?"

"Come on, don't be a spoilsport: you know you want to."

He took the pastry from Polnareff, cautiously, furthermore tapped it against the other, cautiously: "To our inevitable success, and a night of excitement."

As the evening creeped along the two got a stronger bearing on their surroundings (very much aided by a map they found above a display of pamphlets; this was ultimately a tourist site, after all), and became better acquainted on where their target may linger. A large white hall towards the heart of the building was where most of the guests seemed to congregate. The music was louder here, the people enjoying the smooth melodies as they chatted from the sidelines, the slim balcony on the floor above, or from the fluid dancefloor in the middle.

"Say, wanna dance?" Polnareff nudged Avdol. The latter looked at him almost skeptically, and the former continued in a sing-songy voice: "You said you wouldn't stop me from having fun!"

Avdol chuckled to himself, watching the pairs in the centre of the room. "It looks less like dancing and more like idly swaying."

"So while we look like we're dancing, we'll have enough freedom to look around and see if we can spot that bastard from a new vantage point." Polnareff followed up, wearing the same enthusiasm as a car salesman about to make a deal.

"I'm not entirely sure," Avdol leaned closer, "that this isn't just a ploy for you to hold my hand."

"And if it were?" He shrugged, holding out a hand for him to take. "Who could blame me?"

Avdol sighed, obviously having succumbed to his partner's insistence yet again (despite having not confirmed anything verbally). But looking down at the hand before him, he seemed displeased.

"Everything okay?" Polnareff questioned, confused.

"I'm not sure what you're doing, but you're offering the wrong hand." He pointed out.

"What? I could've sworn the woman's right hand went over the man's left hand..."

"It does." Avdol confirmed, clasping Polnareff's right hand and leading them further out into the room.

"Wait, hold on, that isn't right." Polnareff stammered, browline furrowing. "Well, I mean it is my right, but that's not - why are you in the man's position?"

"Why wouldn't I be? I'm taller than you."

Polnareff scoffed: "In whose reality? You're 6'2; I'm like 6'4!"

"With your hair up. When you let it down, you're 6'1, aren't you?"

He pouted. "Of course you'd be so pedantic. Who cares? It's still part of my height!"

"Your hair has no relation to the rest of your body, Jean, and it certainly has no relation to dancing." He tsked. He was clearly finding this amusing, and it wound Polnareff up more and more.

"Come on, you barely have an inch on me otherwise - it doesn't matter!"

"Alright, alright. So height doesn't matter. Yet you're slimmer than me, anyway," he planted his hand firmly on the back of Polnareff's waist, "so you still don't win."

"Oh, come on, that's -"

"Why are you fighting?" He smiled wider. "I thought you said it didn't matter."

He was beaming. Genuinely beaming, and all Polnareff could do in retort was place his free hand on his shoulder with an obvious pout.

His displeased expression, for better or worse, went unnoticed by those around them. Everyone seemed caught up in their own world, swept up in the little personal fiascos happening in each bubble. Lovers danced and stepped on each other's toes; friends rocked side to side as they giggled over something embarrassingly dumb; business partners stood closer than they could at any meeting table. They tittered in a cocktail of languages, focusing only on the person in front of them: which gave Avdol and Polnareff free reign to eavesdrop on each couple without being noticed.

"You know, I kinda feel like a spy." Polnareff noted, his line of sight moving from the crowd and skirting back around to Avdol.

"With how we're using our real names, and easily we can be tracked back to being here?" He responded automatically.

"Shut up, you're ruining the mystique." He reprimanded. "I mean, going to a high class party, trying to track down a threat, while being aided by a dashing accomplice... I could get used to this."

"With all due respect, I'm not sure you'd make a good spy."

"What? I'd make a great spy!"

"You're not exactly the best at keeping secrets."

"Please, name one time anyone has ever doubted my trust."

"Do... Do I really need to remind you that within the first month I knew you, you were convinced I was dead for a week? Out of the others' fear for my own safety?"

"That... Doesn't count."

"Sure it doesn't." He shook his head, sidestepping and drifting them out of the path of a particularly loud (likely drunk) man. "But that aside, what about going undercover? Do you think you could sustain a different life and appearance?"

"Naturally." He smirked. "Just like playing dress up."

"Would you still do it even if it required you to shave off all your hair?" He inquired.

"What? No, God, no!" He grimaced. "Forget being a spy; there's no way I'd ever go bald! Ugh, don't even put that thought in my mind!"

Avdol heartily laughed. "Sorry for shooting down your dreams quite so quickly."

"Ach, I'm used to it by now."

"Ouch."

"Hey, not like that." He cocked his head. "If anything, you've made my dreams come true."

Avdol looked surprised, but moreso than that looked soft. "That's an awfully smooth line for an entirely platonic conversation."

He ended the comment with a brush of his thumb over the back of Polnareff's hand, and Polnareff smiled. "I just have a way with words."

"You should - watch out!"

Carrying a glass in each hand, a woman let out a wail and stumbled towards them. A couple adjacent to her had stamped on the tail of her dress and any semblance of her footing was hopelessly lost. The first flute smashed against Polnareff's arm, leading him into disengaging from the hold with Avdol to catch the woman before she planted her now free hands into the sea of glass. Meanwhile, Avdol managed to catch the second flute moments before it hit the ground (despite most of its contents having already been lost to the floor).

"Are you alright, mademoiselle?" Polnareff asked as calmly as he could, a hand on her shoulder and another on her back.

She seemed horrified; both at the carnage in front of her and the large footprint now embedded into the teal material of her skirt. It took her several beats to even consider looking back at who tripped her or at Polnareff, and when she did she looked like a deer in the headlights. It was like she didn't even know where she was.

She blinked. She looked at him and the people around them (many of them staring), and blinked. And then, running a hand through her hair, fingers clinged to her scalp, distraught apologies waterfalled from her mouth. Polnareff immediately moved to calm her down, to tell her it was alright, when Avdol cleared his throat.

"Polnareff, I can handle this - you should clean up your suit." He indicated to his sleeve: of course, it was dripping with champagne, small shards of glass sprinkled on its surface.

"Oh, dammit, this suit was brand new!" He hissed. "I'll go find a bathroom so I can wipe this up."

"It's down the hall, that way." Avdol nodded, regarding an exit on the west side of the room. "I'll meet you back here."

"You won't even notice I'm gone."

Avdol turned to face the woman, but before he could speak Polnareff was already out of earshot. What a way to shake up the night! Everything had been smooth sailing until then; now, Polnareff was left with a pit in his stomach. It made sense for her to be rattled and embarrassed, but that look in her eyes... Something deeper was there. He almost wished he were still taking care of it - not that he didn't trust Avdol, of course. He just wanted to see her happy himself, to put his thoughts to bed. Maybe he'd seek her out later into the night.

For a public bathroom with multiple stalls, the gallery's facilities were rather surprising. The walls and floor were of pristine white tile, air fresheners hidden around the room in wicker baskets of fake flowers. A mirror ran along a length of wall, sinks below it and stalls across from it. It seemed empty, save for a single occupied stall. Sauntering in, he brushed any glass remnants that had somehow managed to cling on into the trash can by the entrance and moved to a sink on the end. Despite being damp to the touch the crow color of the fabric had nothing wrong with it, but the white trim was now... Off-white. 

He swung the jacket off to look at the stain closer, and was surprised to find a slight weight brush against him with the motion. After running his eyes over the article he realised there was something rectangular and flat in the left pocket... Because that was right: he had tucked the chocolate box into this jacket's pocket when he bought it. He smiled to himself. Right after they caught the bastard they were after would be the perfect time to gift it.

The man came out of the stall and flipped another tap on; at the sink one away from the door. Polnareff got a good look at him as he went to collect some of those gray-green paper towels to dab his sleeve down with: he was scrawny, with hair just too long for it to frame his face, and large square glasses that seemed 15 years out of fashion. His suit was corduroy and an unimpressive shade of beige, as if he had just come from court, or perhaps a chess tournament. Totally unremarkable, to say the least.

At least, until Polnareff heard scrunching. It was the same scrunching of paper towels being torn from their roll, evidently from the man having finished washing his hands. Except he definitely hadn't, because Polnareff could see his hands still sliding over one another under the tap out of the corner of his eye.

His head ticked upwards, away from his jacket and towards the sound. Sure enough, another form was there, despite Polnareff definitely only hearing one other set of footsteps along the tiled floor. This form was lanky as well, but far paler. Bulbous veins ran under its skin, twining around cogs that seemed embedded in what you'd call its flesh. It pawed at the paper, ripping sheet after sheet and clutching them like relics.

The man in corduroy turned from the sink and took the paper, wiping his hands with them. Polnareff just stared at him. At one point, the man realised and stared back.

Polnareff nodded to what was blatantly the man's stand. The man froze. Polnareff grinned.

In an explosion of movement the stand flailed and the trash can was launched at Polnareff - an attack that Silver Chariot parried with ease, knocking the black plastic cylinder back where it came from as if it were a hockey puck. The man shrieked; it was a wonder he didn't collapse then and there. Silver Chariot was on him in a flash looking to pin him to the wall, but the man slipped as he tried to escape. His centre of gravity dipped like a pendulum as he swung himself out of the room, hurtling through the door; Chariot had managed to carve a fissure in the shoulder of the man's suit, but it was only so deep. The man himself was unharmed.

Cursing under his breath, Polnareff threw his jacket back on and chased after him. The bastard must've recalled his stand already because there was no trace of the white figure that had bobbed alongside him, however he wasn't nearly as successful at hiding himself. Polnareff was faster than him, too: just as the man reached a corner in the hallway Polnareff would turn it seconds later. His only way of slowing him down was to knock other attendees that loitered in the hallway into his path, for Polnareff to catch them and quickly manoeuvre them away. He was so close; there was no way he could let him get away. Just gain another metre on him and Chariot could trip him, and Polnareff could tackle him.

Pausing for a decision, the man stopped right at an intersection of doors. One led to a storage closet and the other back to the main hall - although of course, he didn't know that. How could the man know it if he hadn't, like him, recently seen the layout on the map of the gallery? His hesitation would be his downfall: even though he bolted off as quickly as he halted, he lost his momentum and a precious few seconds. Polnareff dived around the corner, grinning at his win.

Instead, he got blindsided by another body. Lady Luck decided to start some beef with him today and planted someone there just to be pushed into his path. Polnareff tried to brush it off and scramble up, but the collision took the air out of his lungs and left him to stay on the ground, heaving, as he heard his target's footsteps get farther and farther away. Goddammit.

"Are you alright?" A voice nearby asked after a beat (because an identity likely belonged to the body he had crashed into). It held a formal tone, panged with a calm sense of worry, and it was one Polnareff knew well.

"Ugh, I can't fucking believe this, mon nounours!" He groaned, sitting up and rubbing his head as he ranted. "I was inches away from catching that asshole! Of course it'd be you I crash into, too... You're okay, right? You've smoothed out any issues with that lady?"

"I... I'm terribly sorry, but I think you have me confused for someone else."

Polnareff paused, confused. Taking his hand from his head he looked at the man kneeling besides him: it was, without a doubt, Avdol. But he didn't meet him with the same gaze. He didn't have the look of someone talking to his friend and lover, but a stranger. It was like he was trying to assess him. It was terrifying.

Polnareff stood up, eyebrows furrowing. "I don't think I have. You're Muhammad Avdol."

"I didn't realise I was so well known." Avdol's eyes showed a flicker of disbelief, but he too stood up, as if he were completely unfazed. "I'm afraid I have no idea who you are."

"What - what shit are you trying to pull here, Muhammad?" Polnareff pointed, accusatory.

"I can assure you, none." He said, finalising, and Polnareff could feel himself squirm.

"So you're saying... You don't recognise me?"

"That's correct."

"No, no, no, that can't be right." His hands went back to his face. "You can't have forgotten me. What about, I don't know, Iggy? A Joseph Joestar, maybe?"

"I do know them." Avdol cocked an eyebrow. "But how do you? Mr Joestar I could understand being a known name, but how do you know Iggy? Do you work with the -"

Polnareff completely ignored his queries: "Alright, what about Jotaro or Kakyoin? Ringing any bells?"

"Jotaro is Mr Joestar's grandson, is he not? Though I have no idea who this Kakyoin may be." Avdol just looked more perplexed. "Why are you just throwing names at me? Who are you?"

"That's the point!" Polnareff moaned, his expression saturated with exasperation. "I mean, you came here with me. Where the hell do you even think you are right now?"

Avdol faltered at that, putting a hand to his chin. "Now that you mention it, I suppose my memory is somewhat hazy. I remember being at my shop in Khan el-Khalili -"

"You're in Belgium."

Avdol blinked. "That's... A change. How did I... "

"Wait, wait," Polnareff put his hand up, "if you don't know me and you don't know Kakyoin, and you last remember being in Egypt: what year do you think it is?"

He answered immediately: "It's 1988. August 1988." And all Polnareff could do was groan.

"For how much you seem to know about me," Avdol continued as Polnareff dug his palms into his eyes, "I know pitifully little about you. Do you have a name, mister -?"

"Polnareff, Jean Pierre Polnareff." He waved a hand, clearly more concerned with his own thoughts - namely, what the hell he was gonna do now. This had to be the work of their target's stand; there was no other explanation. Probably some kind of contact ability that went into effect when he pushed him.

"Then, Mr Polnareff, why don't you tell me what exactly is going on here?"

"Just... Polnareff is fine. And if you could tell me yourself, that'd be great." He scoffed, rambling. "All I know is that I was running after our target, then I crash into you and you have no memory of me. That bastard probably zapped you with his stand or something."

Avdol perked up at that. "You know what stands are?"

"Huh?" He was caught off guard. "Oh yeah, that's old news. This here's Silver Chariot; make the greetings fast. Listen, do you have any memory of meeting anyone in this hall before you crashed into me?"

Avdol looked at Silver Chariot, and back to Polnareff. "I don't mean to come across as rude, but I'm having a hard time trusting you."

"What? Why?"

"We've already established I have no idea who you are." His brows furrowed. "Beyond that, I have reason to believe a stand is responsible for my loss of memory - or inversely, this new environment I find myself in. You've shown yourself to have a stand, so who says you're not my attacker, already having had confused me and are attempting to earn my trust as you lure me into a trap?"

Polnareff's jaw went slack, but Avdol's eyes showed he was deadly serious. Of course this wasn't going to go easily; why would it? He wasn't gullible like him. This would take some convincing.

"Muh- Avdol, listen to me, I am not your enemy. If you could help me find our real enemy, maybe you'll remember that."

"What is your - or if you insist, our - target even named?"

"I... I don't know. You never told me." Polnareff froze. "Hell, I don't even think you knew."

"Their stand ability?"

"I don't know! Memory loss, by the looks of things."

"Polnareff, I'd recommend giving up the act."

"...What?"

"You've done an excellent job of incriminating yourself thus far." Avdol shook his head. "However, I appreciate you going as far as to show me your stand."

"Wait, come on, just listen to me -!"

"The least I can do is show you my own."

"For christ's sake, I know what Magician's Red looks like!" Polnareff cried, and Avdol paused.

"... My apologies. If you've come this far, I should've guessed you would've heard about my stand." He re-evaluated his position. "But Polnareff, I hope you don't think the flames of Magician's Red only burn upward or with the wind. I am not -"

"Bound by the laws of nature? What, you can control fire as I wish?" He kicked a wall. "Sorry to break your momentum, but you've told me this before."

"I -" He stammered, finally fazed. "When?"

"This," Polnareff pinched the bridge of his nose, "is exactly what I'm saying. You don't remember. Because your memory was wiped."

"I don't -"

"Actually, you know what? Let's take a look at Magician's Red. That'll convince you."

Avdol looked skeptical, but ultimately complied and summoned his stand. It was the same as he expected... Except for the arms. The muscle that was one there had been swapped for columns of fire, taking the same approximate shape. Looking into its eyes, the stand looked almost as shocked as he did.

"Polnareff, what is going on? Why is..." He trailed off.

"Haven't you even bothered to look at your own hands?"

Avdol followed suit and faced a shock to his system, his expression blown up with discomfort and surprise. His hands were metal, and feeling along them he discovered his arms were metal, up to an inch or two above the elbows. It felt so natural, and he was so concerned over Polnareff, he hadn't stopped for a moment to second guess it.

"I... What is this?" He asked. He was so calm, yet so blatantly upset. Shit. This was cruel to watch, and Polnareff had caused it.

"In the Winter of 1989, you lost your arms. Saving me." Polnareff explained, and chuckled an add-on: "And that damned mutt Iggy."

"What year is it now?"

"Summer of 1993." He took a step closer. "Listen, I get it's hard, but you need to realise I'm not the enemy. I promise you, once we catch the asshole who had the gall to do this and you get your memory back, you'll be kicking yourself. Just... Have a little faith in me."

"I... " His expression soured, then softened in defeat. "Fine. I'll follow you. But first: please, explain to me what I'm doing here."

Though he was glad to have smoothed over one crease, explaining the events of the last few hours and days without providing reasoning that would alarm Avdol further required the same kind of methodical approach as crossing a minefield. Polnareff had to convince him they were close so that he would be more set in his trust in him, but without revealing much about the how or why. DIO was a topic he was determined to stay away from entirely, because the last thing they needed was Avdol panicking over a charismatic, deified vampire when there was the very real threat of a man that sort of resembled a weasel.

"So, what exactly is our relationship?" Avdol had asked.

"Call it... Partners in crime." Polnareff gulped. He remembered the Avdol he knew during the first week of the crusade, before Hol Horse and Cameo and everything in between. That Avdol probably would've had a heart attack if he knew the French bimbo he spared from burning to death would go on to lay him. Though the man in front of him had no memory of that time Polnareff considered whether he made the same or similar first impression, thus it was easier to avoid cardiac arrest than tell the full truth.

The weasel-bastard (patent pending) had definitely escaped down the hallway towards the main hall, which meant that he was probably loitering in there. That or he had caved into cowardice and holed himself up in another bathroom. Polnareff didn't exactly like the idea of combing the large room, but he disliked the idea of kicking open bathroom stalls even more, so he'd do it if he must.

"Not to second guess your intuition, but wouldn't it be wiser to look down on the room from one of those balconies?" Avdol had offered upon entering the room, indicating to the ledges hanging over the floor.

"I guess so. But how do we get back down quickly if we spot him?"

"The stairs aren't too far from the door over here. And if our meeting earlier meant anything, I'm sure you're not against making chase."

Sure enough, the balcony had a better view. It was harder to see faces, but with most people clad in black it was inevitable their target would stand out like a sore thumb. It was almost mesmerising, watching the people below flit to and fro. It also seemed like a game of Where's Waldo, except the stakes and difficulty had been dramatically raised.

"Oh, before I forget, I have something to give you." Avdol started, fishing something out of his pocket.

"What, are you remembering something new?" Polnareff placed a hand on the ledge, hopeful.

"No, no. I think you dropped something earlier." Avdol brought a box out from his coat's inner pocket. "Is this familiar?"

The chocolates. Polnareff patted his jacket down, and sure enough felt no bulge. "When did I drop these?"

"They were on the floor after we collided, so I just assumed they were yours. You should be more careful." Avdol commented, matching his position leaning over the balcony.

"Yeah, yeah, you're always telling me." Polnareff chuckled, even though it was a comment his partner wouldn't understand. "Thanks."

"If you don't mind me asking, are they a gift?"

"Oh, yeah." He rubbed the back of his head. "Means I should treat them especially preciously, huh?"

"Who are they for?"

Polnareff blinked at him a few times, a stream of tension shooting through him. He didn't really want to lie, but more than that he didn't want to spoil the surprise.

"They're for my boyfriend." Polnareff answered in the end, drawing out the sentence.

"Oh, is there anything coming up?" He inquired, with a bizarre sense of curiosity.

"Nah, it's just a present; you don't need to wait for any special occasion to show someone you love them, y'know?"

"True. You're very admirable." Avdol smiled somewhat, a notion Polnareff was glad to finally see. "Do I know him?"

"Yeah, I'd say you do." Polnareff rocked his head side to side, finding the right words.

"And what does he think of me? If you and I are supposedly partners in crime?"

"Well, he better love you," Polnareff felt a grin grow on his face, "or I'm gonna have to knock his lights out."

As much as he'd love to stare lovingly at Avdol, he figured it'd probably be a pretty weird experience for him. Instead, he averts his eyes back to where they're supposed to be: pointed at the rest of the room below, looking for that damned stand user. Under normal circumstances Polnareff would've bet money he fled the gallery long ago, but since he was filling in for such an important sponsor he was relying on the fact he wouldn't be allowed. He had to be somewhere in this building, somewhere in this room...

"Is that him?" Avdol pointed at a man sitting on a stool near the exit. There he was.

But how to get to him? If Polnareff entered the room from the staircase as they had planned, he'd see him coming from all the way across the hall. If Polnareff had to fight through all those people, he'd lose him again. He couldn't let that happen.

He peeked over the edge of the balcony: there was nothing for it, he supposed. He threw a leg over it.

"Polnareff, what the hell are you doing?" Avdol exclaimed, his words a scream through a hushed voice.

"Catching our guy, obviously. Meetcha downstairs!"

Right on cue, a delayed wave of gasps came from the floor below, and the crowd hurriedly parted to avoid him. The drop was what, twelve feet? Fifteen? Nothing he couldn't handle with a bit of finesse. He pushed himself away from the ledge and let go, falling with his feet under him, and braced himself for impact. That cold floor collided with him (mainly with his shin) but Polnareff managed to roll off most of the damage, getting to his feet seconds later with only a strong stinging sensation through his leg. Okay, so maybe he'd need to work on his landings.

He scanned the room, trying to get his senses together by searching for the target. No doubt he saw that stunt: that stool by the exit was now vacant, but the exit he was by before was alarmed, and there certainly was no fire drill happening. The bastard couldn't have crossed the floor in that time without him noticing, surely, so Polnareff made the decision to bolt down the nearest corridor. It was slim and the turns were curved, making Polnareff crash into the wall once or twice, although it didn't stop his pursuit. The hallway eventually looped back towards the main entrance, but the man was nowhere to be seen.

He couldn't have fled, someone would've stopped him - at least long enough for Polnareff to catch them chatting with him. He retraced his steps, back through that corridor, until he came across a door. It didn't go anywhere; at least, there wasn't a room attached to it that Polnareff remembered on the map. It was probably just a closet.

He turned the doorknob, and found it to be unlocked. Throwing it open, he found their target quivering, parked right next to an ungodly supply of bleach. A mop handle laid in the severed fabric on his shoulder, poking him in the neck. It looked as if he was going to speak, but all he did was squeeze his eyes shut and whimper.

Polnareff went to start the conversation instead, but felt a hand tugging on his arm. And another. And ultimately was dragged backwards.

*

"I can't believe they threw me out!" Polnareff exclaimed from the sidewalk.

"What did you expect to happen?" Avdol countered, hands gripping the windowsill. He had opened the window of one of the bathrooms, leaning out of it begrudgingly. The way he was looking down on Polnareff outside likely matched how he was feeling towards him now. "You're so blindly determined to catch this target of yours, you ran off without thinking of the consequences!

"Yeah, yeah, I know. It was rash." He agreed, a voice in the back of his mind making him consider whether he had been told something similar before. "But listen, I'll keep it under wraps once I'm back in. Help me up, will you?"

"What?" Avdol took a step back, but Polnareff grabbed his wrist for support as he put a leg on the stone wall.

"I'm coming back in, obviously."

"What are you thinking?" Avdol exclaimed, shaking him off and making him stumble back down onto the sidewalk. "You'll be caught immediately - and do you really think your shoulders are narrow enough to fit through this window?"

"Alright, so let's find another window, or a back door, or -"

"Polnareff, please, just stop talking. If you do not collect yourself, I will collect you." Avdol glared down it him: stern, and done with his shambolic approach to the mission. But it wasn't one look Polnareff could take seriously. It was the same look Avdol would give him if he screwed up the laundry badly and stained all their whites bright blue, or forgot over and over again to drop off a library book. The expression itself was deadly serious, but knowing it was shared between such different scenarios and contexts made Polnareff crack up on the spot, and Avdol only more angry.

"Stay here." Avdol continued as Polnareff's breath hitched in his throat, the Frenchman desperately wishing he weren't so amused. "I'll go find him myself."

"Av, wait! If you go alone, who says he won't wipe your memory again? We'll be back to square one - no, square zero, even! I won't be there to help you!"

"Well, then what do you suggest we do? Because you're not coming back inside."

Polnareff hummed for a moment, but a lightbulb flickered in his brain: "Hit the fire alarm."

"I'm sorry?"

"No, you're right, that's crazy - have Magician's Red set off the fire alarm."

"What? Why?"

"If we need to be together and I can't come inside, then the next best thing is to drive everyone out!"

"Polnareff, this is a formal event." Avdol cringed. "If this place has a working sprinkler system I'll end up ruining everyone's outfit; all of the food; even some of the art. All because someone was dumb enough to jump off a balcony."

"Okay, I'm not saying that was my smartest move, you win," he held up his hands, "but that doesn't matter now. We're here already. So let's drive them out, huh? We'll catch him lined up right in the fire assembly area."

"I'm not sure about this... This does not align with my image -"

"I'll meet you at the fire assembly point!"

Polnareff ran off, back towards the front of the building, and Avdol felt a pit welling in his stomach. What in the hell happened within the past five years for a man like that to become a close friend of his? A man with such lack of spacial awareness, who managed to be so charismatic while also being the largest walking disaster he had ever seen. And despite all he had spilled without constraint, it still nagged Avdol that it seemed like he was hiding something from him. Their relationship just felt like an oxymoron.

Avdol turned back towards the room, and quickly located the smoke detector on the ceiling. Its blatant position was probably to deter smokers. A small green light was flashing slowly on its cover, so that probably meant it was working.

He gulped. This was wrong. He was also fairly certain this was a crime that came with a decent fine. How had the law changed since he last remembered - had some bizarre accident happened, and now it carried a greater penalty? That wasn't a piece of knowledge he wanted to learn firsthand. He didn't know about what sort of financial state memory-having him was in.

No, it was fine. Nobody would, or even could, see Magician's Red's fire. Of course, it wouldn't really smoke unless he burned something. But at least the fire wouldn't be seen. It would be fine.

He tore a handful of paper towels from the dispenser and let Magician's Red light it with a touch of the hand. It was still jarring, seeing it like this. As much as Avdol wanted to know the details of the how and why his arms were lost, a small voice in his mind persuaded him not to ask. Once he got his memories back, he'd remember, and if it were something he'd be grateful forgetting for a while he wasn't going to cheat himself out of of the opportunity.

He shook his head: now wasn't the time. He had an entirely separate unsettling thought to focus on, furthermore he should straighten up and stop being unsettled by it. He held the paper up to the ceiling, and as it smouldered light gray smoke began to curl from it. It would only be a matter of time.

*

"Avdol!" Polnareff whooped with open arms. "It worked!"

People were hurrying down the front steps of the gallery, a repetitive blaring siren coming from inside. Dresses were leaving trails of water behind them; suit jackets had little streams running down the shoulders and dripping from the elbows. Avdol had already begun trying to dry himself off with Magician's Red and the warmth it radiated, but it wasn't instantaneous. He had done what had been asked of him, and as expected, he ended up horribly and uncomfortably damp.

When he reached Polnareff, he couldn't even be bothered reprimanding him for shouting for his attention (and clearly incriminating them both). He didn't care about yelling at him either, for running off halfway through their conversation. He just looked him dead in the eye, face emotionless.

"I hate you."

"It worked." Polnareff repeated, grinning from ear to ear. 

"I still hate you. Do you have any idea what carnage has been caused? And god forbid anyone links this back to us."

"Hey, don't panic! We got the job done! We -"

"Did we? Did we really?" He interrupted. "We still haven't gotten any closer to him; all we've done is ruin countless people's nights! I'm sick of your nonchalant attitude - and I knowing I let it slide for a second makes me even sicker. This is a disaster!"

Polnareff gulped: "I'm not saying -"

"You're right: you're not saying anything until you explain to me clearly who you are." He demanded, pointing a finger in his face. "Tell me, truly, one good reason why I should trust you."

"Because," Polnareff drew out his words, his grin more nervous now. "I'm endearing?"

Avdol didn't say a word. He barely moved a muscle, merely retracting his hand, and for a moment Polnareff feared that he was pulling back to punch him. Hell, even the flames from Magician's Red seemed hotter. He just stood there next to him and closed his eyes, bitterly attempting to keep himself in check. It been a while since Polnareff had seen him so angry, nevermind at him, and suddenly it all clicked. Their opponents ability to cause confusion was just scratching the surface. It's true ability was what came with it: severing ties of trust that had no way of being restored until the user stopped their assault.

"Alright, I'll make you a deal." Polnareff piped up, rolling his shoulders as he scanned the crowd once more for their target. "If you can't put your faith in me, I won't make you. I'll go after the guy myself. But please, just stay right here so you don't end up in a regrettable situation when you get your memories back."

Avdol opened an eye, his amber gaze piercing right through him. Yet he didn't say a word. Polnareff took it as agreement.

And just past him, right in the corner of Polnareff's peripheral vision, the man ran out from the crowd and shot off down the street. He seemed to want to hit the ground running, to get a head start before he was spotted again, but parting from such a large crowd so quickly made it look like he wanted to get caught. And, by god, Polnareff finally would. His tension with Avdol was a thing of the past as the soles of his shoes hit the sidewalk and he sprinted off after him.

Luckily, the streets were clearer than they were before, but now he wasn't blessed with overhead lighting. The night was in the throes of twilight, the occasional orange street lamps preventing his eyes from adjusting to the patches of darkness. He also wasn't familiar with the roads - the chase had diverged from the route back to the hotel almost immediately. To add insult to injury, the leg he had fallen on was already screaming; if this was the reason he lost the guy, he could already picture Avdol tsking at him with 'I told you so' written all over his face. And then doing it all over again when he got his memory back.

The bastard ran with so much certainty, so unlike the pursuit in the gallery, that Polnareff realised him living in the area was more likely than he thought. To think: he genuinely was trying to get into a fight with a local. It was a fight he was determined to have, his drive growing with each step. He wasn't foolish enough to fail. He hoped. The man darted down a back alley, and Polnareff followed. Predictably several trash cans were knocked by the man into his path, but those he didn't manage to vault were promptly carved into sheet metal shreds with a few drags of a rapier. 

And then he turned another corner, leading into a courtyard with countless alleys leading to it and street stalls locked up along the border. The man darted straight through the middle, barely six feet in front of Polnareff, but swerved around a tree and disappeared from sight in a flash. As if he vanished in a matter of microseconds.

This couldn't be happening. Not again. At least before Polnareff had been directly stopped by something, but now it was like his target had been plucked off the face of the planet just to spite him. He paced in place, eyes frantically skimming his surroundings, ears trying to pick up on something; anything. 

Soft footsteps came from behind him. He nearly leapt at it before he found himself facing a glowing mass: a cruciform compass of fire, with a well of flame at the points in his direction, and then off to his left. Behind it, Avdol held a finger to his lips, then gestured in the same direction as the compass. Polnareff grinned: this was the same life detector he had seen used against Vanilla Ice.

Polnareff crept up close to him: "I thought I told you to stay put."

"And I thought you said going alone was too dangerous; something about being put back to square one?" Avdol shook his head. "You really are a hypocrite, aren't you?"

"Trust me when I say you're not any better." Polnareff nudged him, and Avdol raised an eyebrow. "You sure do have a knack for coming to save me at the eleventh hour, huh?"

"You're telling me I've had to pull you out of situations like this multiple times?"

"Don't worry too hard about it." Polnareff cackled. He regarded the life detector: "It feels good to see this trick finally working."

"...Did it fail in the past?"

"Uh, it doesn't matter." Polnareff froze. "So, what, he's down that path over there?"

"The compass only has a range of 15 metres; the path's too far for this strong of a reading." He leaned closer, lowering his voice: "If I had to place money on it, he's under the crêpes stand right there."

Polnareff didn't need to be told twice. Silver Chariot quickly broke the chains tethering the wheels in place and bashed the cart from its standing. Sure enough, underneath the weasel laid cowering on his back, the tear from the slash earlier now ripping into the breast pocket of the jacket.

"Please, leave me alone, I- I don't know what you want with me!" He pleaded, the lie present even just in the tone of his voice.

Polnareff rolled his eyes. Sure, he was meant to question him and search his apartment for the arrow, but their escapade had gone on long enough and night hadn't even fallen yet. There had to be a branch of the Speedwagon Foundation nearby to take him and do the dirty work for him. This guy would be a breeze to deal with for them - he didn't even have the brains or resolve to summon his stand right now. Polnareff would even fake a worse injury than he had if he had to; as long as he didn't have to look at this guy any longer. 

Quickly and precisely, Silver Chariot bopped him square in the face with its handle, and the man crumpled into unconsciousness.

His attention turned to Avdol, who returned his expectant look with a blank stare. Polnareff walked up to him and waved a hand in front of his face, and after a few blinks Avdol turned to look at the hand's owner. Before Polnareff knew it, something had clicked with Avdol and he had burst out laughing. He was promptly joined by his partner.

*

"I'm still impressed you managed to not spill anything to me about our relationship." Avdol remarked from the bathroom. "Despite being surrounded by some horribly impulsive and downright stupid decisions, that was one that was for the best."

"It certainly gave me an incentive to try to keep our appearance as platonic as we planned." Polnareff responded, on the bed near the window. "There were moments near the end where I totally thought you'd rip it out of me, though."

"Please. I never suspected a thing. Although I really should've, considering you called me mon nounours the moment you bumped into me." He mused, drying his face in a towel. He fully remembered what had happened during his memory lapse, and cringed less at Polnareff's choices and more at his own ignorance.

"Just couldn't fathom being with someone as great as me, huh?"

"Younger me had no idea what was coming to him."

Avdol had hung up their suits, both damp and one stained, then took and recently finished a shower. Meanwhile, Polnareff had changed into pajamas and was resting his leg (probably bruised; hopefully not sprained) up on the bed, and oscillated between sitting up and lying down as he chatted at Avdol through the door. The small branch of the Foundation they managed to reach wasn't too pleased to find an unconscious stand user dumped on their doorstep, especially since neither of them had managed to get any information out of him, but after one look at the two of them they took him into their custody nonetheless.

Avdol came out of the bathroom, hair down and freely resting in tight coils to air dry. He hadn't put on his own sleepwear yet, instead standing in one of the plush white robes the hotel provided. Polnareff gave a look of absolute enthrallment at the sight of him, which Avdol returned with a smile: skeptical, but amused.

"Sorry that I spoiled your surprise." Avdol said, picking up the box of chocolates from the free bed and indicating to them.

"Please, don't sweat it." Polnareff waved a hand.

"If you insist." He hummed. "But I feel bad. I didn't get you anything in return."

"I'm sure you can fix that." He winked, smirking, and Avdol cocked an eyebrow.

He ignored the forward comment: instead, he opened the box and popped a candy into his mouth. "To be honest, I don't like coffee."

"Wait, you don't?" Polnareff rolled on his side to face him better, hands gripping the sheets.

"I don't touch the stuff. But only because it gives me indigestion." He chewed another and closed the lid: "The flavour itself is nice."

Polnareff rolled back into his prior position, propped up on his elbows. "Thank god. Do you know how mortified I would've been if I had bought you something I had teased all evening just to find out you didn't like it?"

"Relax, I like it plenty." He assured. "It's very sweet of you. Thank you."

Polnareff felt a wobbly smile on his face: not a prepared, flirtatious one, but one where you felt like you were being smothered in fluff. Avdol caught it quickly, and returned it with a sweet, light laugh.

"Still," he continued. "I'm sorry this all went... The way it did. I thought it would be simple, but it ended up being a headache. In hindsight, it was dumb of me to propose the two of us splitting up in the first place."

"Stop apologising; I'm not bothered." He shrugged. "Because if I recall, someone promised they'd make this trip fun for me - at the very least, more fun than a Miami getaway."

"I suppose I did say that, didn't I?" Avdol's eyes widened, but set back down into a cocky look.

"My memory's also telling me you said something about us having all the time in the world." He reminded smoothly, and Avdol got up from his seat. "Do you still stand by that?"

"I'm not a fan of going back on my word, so I think our chances are pretty high."

Avdol's fingers toyed with the collar of Polnareff's shirt for a moment, before he gripped the fabric tight with a turn of the wrist and dipped his face closer to his. His lips were soft and warm, and almost possessive: they never wanted to break contact (not that Polnareff had any issues with that). They tasted divine, too, the sweetness of chocolate and musk of coffee filling Polnareff's mouth. When their lips slid together it was so satisfying it almost tickled, but the pressure was put back on after every movement. It was unrelenting; soon, Polnareff could see stars behind his eyes and hearts in front of them. Comically feebly, his hands crept up and clung to the plush of his partner's robe - it was his only defence against an onslaught of pure bliss.

After what felt like an eternity yet not quite long enough, the kiss parted, and Avdol sat down close next to him on the bed: "Is that fun enough for you?"

Polnareff leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together, and Avdol matched the gesture. Polnareff looked into those eyes, full of love and light and the color of lumps of sap, and felt such unbearable warmth.

"Oh, more than you know." He responded with a sigh. "But is that all I get?"

"Hush. Stop being impatient. Like I said: we have all the time in the world."