So, I ain't a crime novelist nor an actual book writer either. I'm going to try and write realistically, but I think that for people who actually work in the police, my series is going to make them gnash their teeth (sorry 😬). I'd like to remind you that it's pure fun! However, if you have any advice or corrections you feel like sharing with me, I'd be delighted to hear from you!

Same thing goes with native-american culture! I'm a dumb French baguette, therefore, I have little background on this subject, especially in modern days. Please, correct me if something's wrong!

The door onscreen opened once more. Arthur let out a sharp cry of outrage, drawing the attention of several more people in the room. At the sight of the man who had entered, cries of shock rang throughout the room.

"Get the chief, now!" Arthur hollered to one of his coworkers. "Someone record this!"

Within a minute, every officer currently at the station had swarmed in the tech department, crowding around the television.

"Hello, officer Kirkland!" Came a low, sing-song voice from the screen. The man who had walked in was now sauntering toward the camera, looking up at it with a vicious grin on his face. "Oh, I wish this were a skype call so I could see your pretty face looking shocked—I'm sure it's just perfect."

Arthur grit his teeth, green eyes narrowed and hatred burning within them as he stared at the man. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath.

"How did he find you out?!" Cried one of Arthur's coworkers, Elizaveta. Like Arthur, she had been assigned to go undercover in order to infiltrate one of the city's largest drug dealers, and stared in awe at the image of the man himself on the screen.

Arthur gave no reply, hyper focused on the screen.

"Do you like the theatrics? I figured you would, considering how much you like acting." The man joked, a reference to the Brit's time undercover. He grinned as he turned around, leisurely striding toward the captive. He reached forward, pulling the bag away from their head with a flourish.

Arthur immediately let out a cry of shock, clamping a hand over his mouth to keep from screaming out as he watched the most dangerous man in the city pluck a pair of noise-cancelling headphones off of the love of his life.

"What the fuck is going on?!" Were the first words out of Alfred's mouth once the headphones were off.

"Oh, my. A gorgeous face ruined by extremely poor manners. You know, typically you introduce yourself before you begin to scream profanities at someone." Said the man, grinning happily at Alfred.

"Yeah, well, typically you don't tie someone up until the third date!" Spat Alfred sarcastically. "Who the fuck are you?"

The man in front of him fixed Alfred with a faux pout. "You don't recognize me? Gilbert Beilshmidt, the devilishly handsome and dangerously charming millionaire?"

Alfred's jaw fell open in shock, staring at the man before him in awe.

"Oh, so you do know me!" Gilbert said with a laugh. "Well, now that I've been introduced, it's your turn. Correct me if I'm wrong: You're Alfred Jones, twenty-six years old, six-foot-four, one-hundred eighty-five pounds, half-brother to Matthew Williams, and you live on Liberty Street in an apartment with your cat, Hero."

Alfred glared harshly at the man, squirming some in his seat. "What do you want with me? You're not an idiot. You know I don't have any info that you need."

Gilbert leaned forward until he was face-to-face with the American, leering at him. "You're right. You don't have any information at all. But you are leverage. Someone—and I won't say who, because that would ruin my awesome fun—is both close to you and my case. I thought it could be fun to make them squirm a little by taking you."

Alfred's face twisted into an enraged frown, brows pulled together and bright eyes narrowed. "Dude, that's fucked up."

"That's the point," Gilbert replied. "Now, let's try something: I'm going to ask you some questions, Alfred. If you refuse to answer or lie to me, I'll hit you. Make sense?"

"Sure," Alfred grumbled, glaring at the man as he stepped back.

Gilbert clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels as he spoke. "Alfred, are you married?"

"Shouldn't you already know that?" Alfred snapped.

Immediately, Gilbert raised his palm, striking the American harshly across the face. Arthur's hands came to his mouth, muffling a sudden cry of shock and outrage as he watched the American's head jerk to the side from the force of the hit. After a moment, Alfred raised his head and fixed Gilbert with a harsh glare, his cheek still red where the man had hit him.

"What the hell was that for?!" Alfred cried.

"You know, for someone in your position, I think it would be rather obvious that you shouldn't speak to me that way." Gilbert said coolly before smacking the American once more.

"Fuck you," Alfred spat out. "Hit me as many times as you want. I'm not gonna answer your dumbass fucking questions."

"No?" Gilbert questioned, leaning forward again.

"No." Alfred said with a resolute nod.

"Hm," Gilbert hummed in consideration, suddenly inching closer. He moved to straddle Alfred, settling himself over the American's bound thighs with a devious smile. "You know, Alfred, I know a lot about you. There was a reason I picked you rather than any of the others I could have."

Alfred turned his head away from Gilbert, chest heaving as if the anger within him was trying to break free.

"Don't ignore me," Gilbert purred, his tone low. He took Alfred's chin very gently in a pale hand, guiding the blond's eyes to meet his.

Arthur growled, fists formed at his sides as he watched the exchange. The rage within him was unparalleled; the longer he watched Gilbert touch Alfred, the more the fire within him burned, and the more compelled he felt to bash the TV screen in, if only to rid himself of the horrifying image upon the screen.

"Listen to me very carefully, Alfred: I know everything. I do my research. I know you have secrets that not even your closest friends know. That not even Arthur know."

Alfred stiffened, glaring harshly at the man. "Leave Arthur out of this. Whatever sick game you're playing, he's not involved."

Arthur felt a pang in his heart at the American's words, so steely and sure. Several of his coworkers turned to glance at him, pitying expressions on their faces at the sight of the hurt on his own. Oh, if only Alfred knew... If only he knew that not only was he involved in the game, but that he was a crucial player, Gilbert's main opponent. How would he react knowing that it was all Arthur's fault he'd gotten kidnapped, that the facade his best friend had kept up for years was all a lie? What would he say when he found out that Arthur wasn't a librarian, but an undercover agent in charge of a case for one of the most dangerous criminals in the city?

"Perhaps so, but I find it a little unfair that there's so much of your life you haven't told him. Does he know about your parents, Alfred? The night you ran away from him? All the foster homes you moved in and out of?"

Arthur's jaw tightened. He did know—after a night of particularly heavy drinking, Alfred had let some of the details of his childhood slip. The next morning, Arthur had brought it up, and Alfred had explained heartwrenching story. Around tears, he'd detailed the abuse of his monstrous parents, his escape, how he'd lived hopping couch to couch for almost six months until, at the tender age of fourteen, he'd been taken in by the state and circulated through various foster homes until adulthood. Knowing this, and seeing Gilbert use the blond's unpleasant past as bait, enraged him beyond belief.

"He already knows all that," Alfred said, gritting his teeth.

"Oh?" Gilbert said, quirking a brow. "What about Janie, Alfred? Does Arthur know anything about that?"

Alfred fumed, nostrils flaring. "Shut up." He hissed.

"It's a shame, what happened. You escaped one abusive household, and before five years had passed, you'd moved into a house where another was soon to start. You trusted her, didn't you, Alfred? You didn't think she could ever hurt you."

"Shut up!" Alfred yelled, struggling against his bonds.

"What was your breaking point with her, Alfred? How many times did she apologize to you before you realized she didn't mean it?"

Arthur's eyes were as wide as saucers, watching the screen rapturously. Whatever Gilbert was alluding to was obviously upsetting Alfred, and it made him fume. More than that, though, he was unbelievably concerned. Alfred had never mentioned anything about someone named Janie, nor any type of abusive relationship, but if Gilbert knew about it, it meant that there had been some record of it. Dread settled in the pit of Arthur stomach. If there were any records of it, it usually meant that it had been severe enough for Alfred to either press charges or seek some type of therapy.

Gilbert leaned in closer, pressing his lips against the American's cheek. When he pulled back, he smiled a sinister smile and reached out, caressing the American's cheek. "How many times did she do this to you before you fought back?"

Arthur watched in horror as the man's other hand snaked downward, settling at Alfred's thigh for a moment. He massaged the area briefly, eyes on the American's now horrified face. Once the blond's breaths had quickened considerably and he began to see true panic set in, he pushed his hand between the American's bound thighs.

"Don't," Alfred breathed, his voice shaky.

"Get the fuck off of him!" Arthur roared at the TV. Elizaveta reached out, resting a hand at his shoulder and fixing him with a sympathetic frown.

"Why not? What's wrong, Alfred?" Gilbert asked teasingly.

"Get away from me," Alfred growled, squeezing his eyes shut tightly.

"But you look so cute when you're afraid! I stole the records from your therapy sessions, you know. She wrote that you were afraid afterward. That you didn't want anyone to touch you. Is that still true? Does it scare you to have me touch you this way?"

"Stop," Alfred said, his voice weaker now.

"Beg me." Gilbert commanded, leaning in.

Alfred's plush lips parted and he took in a breath to speak, only to have the breath stolen from him when the man atop of him suddenly pressed their lips together. Alfred let out a muffled cry of surprise and squirmed in his bonds, shaking his head in order to get the man off of him.

"My, you really are afraid!" Gilbert exclaimed with a laugh. "All you have to do is ask me to stop and I will, Alfred."

"I have a location!" Ivan, an agent on the tech team suddenly cried, breaking all of the agents in the room away from the screen.

"They made it too easy to find them. They have something planned. We need to get there as soon as possible." Elizaveta said urgently.

"We need to go now." Arthur growled.

Green eyes flitted back to the screen, his thick brows pulled downward. Alfred was visibly trembling, the word 'please' falling from his lips repeatedly. Gilbert's face was obscured, his head bent. Arthur fumed; he was kissing Alfred's neck. The mere sight of it made Arthur's heart burn.

"I'll kill him." Arthur seethed.

Elizaveta handed him a bulletproof vest, which Arthur shrugged into without ever taking his eyes off the screen. His team was ready to go within two minutes, and they sped to the source of the crime in a hurry. As the Brit expected, it lead them somewhere that was completely inconspicuous on the outside; an empty building on the outskirts of town, once a hair salon that had gone out of business two months earlier. The windows were boarded up, and the door locked. Elizaveta had to kick it in to enter, and several agents spilled in with their guns raised. After a quick search of the premises, a staircase was found, and the Brit lead the team down the concrete steps.

Immediately, his mouth fell open in shock. At the bottom of the steps, a hallway stretched on in either direction, up until a corner at the end of each. Numerous doors were situated on each side of the hallway, and Arthur scowled.

"Start searching." He commanded, nodding to his team. Several agents started forward, only for a sudden voice to appear, playing from speakers embedded into the walls.

"Go down the hallway you're facing right now, Arthur. Take two lefts. Fourth door on your right." The voice of Gilbert purred.

Unthinking, Arthur immediately followed his instructions and dashed down the hall, Elizaveta close behind and urgently calling his name.

"What if it's a trap?!" She called, catching up to the Brit as he sprinted down the hall and took the first turn.

"I don't fucking care!" Arthur exclaimed. "I have to find him!"

"Arthur, wait!" Elizaveta called, following him around the second corner.

Arthur rushed to the instructed door, wasting no time before raising his foot. He kicked it twice before it succumbed to the force, swinging inward. Immediately, his eyes went wide in horror and all the blood drained from his face.

Gilbert stood in the center of the room, Alfred directly in front of him. One of Gilbert's arms was wrapped around his waist, his fingers roaming underneath the American's now half unbuttoned shirt. His other hand held a gun, the barrel of which was currently buried in Alfred's golden hair. Ropes still encircled the length of Alfred's arms, securing them behind his back. To Arthur's anger, the state of the American's clothing gave the impression of a hurried dressing after a hookup; his pants unbuttoned and unzipped at the front, his shirt half-unbuttoned. His hair was a mess, blood flowed in two neat lines from his mouth and nose, and tracks of tears were clearly visible upon his lightly freckled cheeks.

"Take one step closer and I'll shoot him," Gilbert said, his casual tone infuriating Arthur.

"Arthur!" Alfred cried, eyes widening to the size of saucers at the sight of the man. His eyes flitted over the Brit's ensemble and then back into his face, his eyes shining with surprise. "You're a cop?"

"More than just a cop," Gilbert purred, pressing his lips to the American's cheek. "He's an agent. Been undercover for two years."

"What do you want, Gilbert?" Arthur demanded.

"I don't want anything. You and your team has been a pain in the ass—I figured that I should return the favor, and what better way to do it than with him? It wasn't that hard to figure out, Kirkland. Everywhere I turned for information on you, someone mentioned Alfred and the rumors that you loved him."

Arthur's eyes flitted briefly to Alfred's face. The American's shoulders had slumped, an expression of shock set upon his handsome face. Arthur felt his cheeks reddening despite himself, and he fixed his eyes back unto Gilbert's face as the man spoke.

"I was going to kill him at first, but it seems like a lot of fun to watch you squirm over him. Maybe I should keep him around a little bit and see what I can get you to do." Gilbert suggested with a sickening smile. "Drop your gun, Arthur." He commanded.

Arthur's breath hitched in his throat. "You know I can't do that," he said, his words slow and deliberate.

Gilbert tilted his head to the side in mock confusion. "That's funny, I thought you cared about him." He said before suddenly taking Alfred's shoulders.

He whipped the American around to face him and, much to Arthur's disdain, pressed a quick kiss to his lips. Then, with a dull thud, Gilbert had smacked gun against the side of Alfred's head full force, the American falling the floor with the force of the hit. Arthur yelled in outrage, leaping forward to come to Alfred's aid. However, when Gilbert aimed the gun at his friend once more, he froze in place and looked to Gilbert angrily.

"I told you to put the gun down," Gilbert said, gazing fixedly into Arthur's face.

"No!" Alfred cried suddenly, leaping forward.

Gilbert cried out in shock as his captive suddenly plowed into him, sending them both the floor. He crashed into the concrete on his back, Alfred atop of him with his arms still bound behind his back.

"You fucking dick!" Gilbert shouted angrily, realizing that the American had knocked the gun out of his hand, where it had slid across the floor and against a wall.

As Gilbert struggled to push Alfred off of him, he watched Arthur race to the gun and quickly apprehend it. The Brit then sauntered forward, grinning triumphantly. Elizaveta dashed into the room, blood dripping from her lip, and let out a cry of happiness. She pulled her own gun from her holster and aimed at Gilbert.

"Go take care of him, Arthur. I got this," she said, nodding in the direction of Alfred.

Arthur nodded and leaned forward, quickly lifting the American off of Gilbert and to his feet, immediately tugging the blond into his arms.

"God, I'm so glad you're alright," Arthur sighed, pulling back and ushering the American out the door.

Alfred stumbled on his feet as they walked out, brows furrowing. "H-Hey," he murmured, "I... My head feels weird," he told the Brit.

"What?" Arthur asked. "Your head feels—Oh! Shit, you need a doctor!" He exclaimed, suddenly remembering the hit from the gun Alfred had endured.

Alfred nodded, looking up. His eyes were unfocused and he swayed on his feet. Arthur put a steadying arm behind him, helping him to walk. "Hey, Artie?"

"Yes?" Arthur asked as he helped Alfred through the exit, supporting the majority of the American's body by this point.

"You're not gonna bust me for the pot I smoked, are ya?" Alfred asked, speech slightly slurred.

A laugh bubbled in Arthur's throat and he opened his mouth to reply when Alfred's eyelids fluttered and he dropped backward, unconscious.

Alfred woke to the beep of a heart monitor and a hand squeezing his.

"Woah," he groaned aloud, squeezing his eyes shut once before allowing them to open.

"Alfred!" Exclaimed a familiar voice, making the American jolt. The hand in his squeezed tighter, and he heard the rustling of paper to his left side.

The American turned his head, watching as his best friend tossed a magazine off of his lap and stood up, hovering over him with a bright smile.

"Hey, Artie," Alfred greeted, surprised by the roughness of his voice.

"How do you feel, love?" Arthur questioned urgently, leaning over him with his thick brows furrowed in concern.

"My head fucking hurts," the American replied with a chuckle. "That bastard really fucking pistol whipped me, huh? I thought people only did that in movies."

Arthur frowned, very gently carding his fingers through the blond's golden hair. "I'm afraid he did," he murmured. "I'm so sorry, Alfred. This was all my fault. You had a concussion. Well, you still do, but before it was... God, I'm so fucking sorry. I can't even begin to tell you how terrible I feel."

Alfred blinked up at him, surprised. "Hey, it's not like you kidnapped me or something. You were there to help me."

"I know, I know. But I should have just put the gun down. I... I thought he'd hurt you more if he knew I was defenseless, but it was unfair call to make. I should have never put you in jeopardy, not even for a second. I was gambling with your life."

"I'm okay, aren't I?" Alfred said, a reassuring smile on his face. "Besides, it wasn't all bad."

Arthur's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What about that situation could possibly be good?"

"He was a pretty good kisser." Alfred joked. At the glare he received from Arthur, he laughed. "Okay, okay, not funny. I meant that it wasn't all bad because I got to watch you get all flustered and blushy in the middle of a crime scene, and all 'cause Gilbert said you loved me."

Arthur cursed himself when his green eyes went wide, his face involuntarily blooming red at the comment.

"I was pretty flattered, yanno. If everyone he talked to knew, that means that you're either so stupidly in love with me that it's obvious to everyone who sees you, or that you gush about me to everyone you meet. Either way, I thought it was pretty great." Alfred teased with a winning smile.

"Do you want another concussion?" Arthur threatened as he released Alfred's hand, turning away.

Alfred let out a cry of protest and hurriedly sat up, immediately wincing in pain. Arthur whipped around and immediately began to scold the American, helping him to lay down again.

Alfred looked to his friend once the pain had dulled down to the familiar ache at the side of his skull. "I wasn't making fun of you, you know. I was really happy to hear it."

The Brit folded his arms across his chest, huffing. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I'm glad you love me, 'cause I love you too and I'm kinda sick of pretending I don't." Alfred said with a grin.

A half-serious, half-fun character sheet for modern/cop!Arthur. I had so much fun making it! Thank you so much, everyone, for all your headcanons! I keep all of them in mind while writing and building his modern self for the fic 😏 (also please if you're reading this and have your own headcanons for this AU, I'd be delighted to hear them, don't hesitate to reach out!) I added a ton of hidden details that will eventually make sense as we navigate through the story!

(Trying to guess his height and weight was so hard 🫠 after a few hours spent on forums I came up with that, keeping in mind that this is modern times, so people have grown taller. Also, muscles weigh a lot. He's not a small boah.)

Weaknesses: can be stubborn, uncooperative, sarcastic. Has a cigarette addiction and tends to drink when times are dark.

✧.* Credits! ✧.*

First Arthur pic belongs to the incredible @arthurmorgan-vp

Second Arthur pic belongs to the sweetest @papaue00

The original template is from @/sgnarl