Mama Said Knock You Out
Title: Mama Said Knock You Out
Series: Hetalia
Characters/Pairing: Turkey/Greece
Rating: PG
Status: complete
And So... Things have to get better eventually. And, sometimes, they actually do.
Notes: This is it.
"Do you know what my mother said to me, about you, before she died?"
Sadiq lifts an eyebrow, stitches in his forehead stretching painfully.
"She said to knock you out."
There's a pause at that, because it could be a joke--it could be, Heracles had made them before--or it could be the truth since that woman had hated his guts. And Sadiq realizes that either way, it's still the funniest thing he's heard in goddamned years. He lets out a laugh that's louder than the sound of the brats playing beneath the courtyard or the cats mewling, a laugh that echoes off the cliffs and whitewashed houses.
Heracles lets a smile tug at the corner of his mouth, one that stretches the cut in his lip painfully. "I think it was because she saw how I looked at you, even back then." He clears his throat, realizing what he'd just let slip through. "I mean, back when I was young and foolish."
"Mn." The cat in Sadiq's lap stretches, mewls. He gives it a quick pet behind the ears before it jumps down to the garden to stalk some prey. Sadiq had seen those aforementioned looks; it had made the brat so much easier to conquer, after all, especially when coupled with the disdainful glares Heracles had given the rest of Europe. "She was a smart woman."
"The best," Heracles agrees, almost automatically. He takes a sip of coffee--it's one of those rare days they don't argue whether to call it 'Turkish' or 'Greek'--and simply enjoys the scent of the ocean, the olive spread, the man across the table from him. His back still hurts, sure, and it's difficult to walk, but maybe his wounds number only half Sadiq's. Heracles rubs the edge of his cup, the chip from when it fell off the shelf during the second quake. Sadiq had helped him glue the tiny thing back together.
His own coffee long gone, Sadiq props his feet up on the low wall, content with staring at the passing clouds. Things are getting better. They are, because they have to be. They are, because it's finally time for them to.
"If..." Heracles keeps his eyes to his cup. "If you are feeling up to it, I'd like for us to go inside and be... civil."
And as bland as that sounds, it's probably the nicest thing he's said to Sadiq in years.
Silence and clouds pass between them before Sadiq reaches slowly across the table, bridges the distance, and takes that hand from the little cup. It fits so finely in his, just like always, and he brings it to his lips briefly. "Alright," he murmurs to knuckles, raw and red. "Alright."
Because, frankly, there's something to be said of mortality these days; it's a lesson Heracles' mother taught them both. It's one they both forgot.
Inside the house on the cliffs, whitewashed with a blue roof, Heracles cleans their dishes and makes a declaration with his back turned: "From now on, I'd like it if nothing we say in our houses leaves them."
Sadiq studies the tense back from his spot at the wall. "Alright," he says yet again.
"I mean it."
"I know."
And the contract begins.
Hot water drips from Heracles' hands as he sets the dishes out to dry. His back is still turned. He stares out the kitchen window. It's one of those times Sadiq knows he has to stay quiet if he wants Heracles to speak, so he waits, watches the clock on the wall and wonders how a grown man can possibly get away with Hello Kitty merchandise hanging in his kitchen so brazenly.
"I thought that you were going to die."
Sadiq glances back towards the sink, the window. "I'm still here."
"I mean back after... After your last royal boss left the throne."
"...ah."
"I mean, I am my mother's lands, but--"
"None of us know how this shit works, kid."
"I know." Heracles busies himself with a towel. "And I was glad. Glad that you would be gone."
That twists in Sadiq's stomach like a knife, but he'd be a damned fool to say it was a surprise.
"But this time..." Heracles shakes his head and finally turns; there aren't tears in his eyes or anything so sappy, just that same thoughtful look he always has. Maybe it's a little deeper this instance, maybe it's not. "I was worried about you."
"I know. You came to get me, put stitches in my head." Sadiq grins, crosses his arms. "Couldn'ta asked for a cuter nurse."
The flirtation is ignored, as always. "I know now, if you're gone, a part of myself is lost too."
That knife twists out of Sadiq's stomach, something warmer replacing it. Blood or honey, he's not sure which. "And also with you," he murmurs. None of their words will leave the kitchen; for better or worse, they'll stay there with the drying dishes and tic-tic-tock of the atrocious clock.
"I still have feelings for you. I just don't know what they are." Heracles stares at him, analyzing. "I just don't even know." It's puzzling to him, but, after all, Heracles loves puzzles, so he smiles just a bit.
On the other side of the room: It would be a lie to say that he missed it, to say he didn't slip into memories of Heracles at his side in anger or joy. And even though he'd promised to never do it again--never take what didn't belong to him--Sadiq couldn't quell his desire to make Heracles his. And it wasn't because he wanted some islands or territory; he wanted Heracles, as he stood before him. And that's when Sadiq knows it's become personal.
For the first time in a long time, Sadiq tells the truth about himself: "No one's gonna love you like I do. Not now, not ever."
There was just the slightest hitch of breath: "I should certainly hope not. I doubt I could survive it."
Series: Hetalia
Characters/Pairing: Turkey/Greece
Rating: PG
Status: complete
And So... Things have to get better eventually. And, sometimes, they actually do.
Notes: This is it.
"Do you know what my mother said to me, about you, before she died?"
Sadiq lifts an eyebrow, stitches in his forehead stretching painfully.
"She said to knock you out."
There's a pause at that, because it could be a joke--it could be, Heracles had made them before--or it could be the truth since that woman had hated his guts. And Sadiq realizes that either way, it's still the funniest thing he's heard in goddamned years. He lets out a laugh that's louder than the sound of the brats playing beneath the courtyard or the cats mewling, a laugh that echoes off the cliffs and whitewashed houses.
Heracles lets a smile tug at the corner of his mouth, one that stretches the cut in his lip painfully. "I think it was because she saw how I looked at you, even back then." He clears his throat, realizing what he'd just let slip through. "I mean, back when I was young and foolish."
"Mn." The cat in Sadiq's lap stretches, mewls. He gives it a quick pet behind the ears before it jumps down to the garden to stalk some prey. Sadiq had seen those aforementioned looks; it had made the brat so much easier to conquer, after all, especially when coupled with the disdainful glares Heracles had given the rest of Europe. "She was a smart woman."
"The best," Heracles agrees, almost automatically. He takes a sip of coffee--it's one of those rare days they don't argue whether to call it 'Turkish' or 'Greek'--and simply enjoys the scent of the ocean, the olive spread, the man across the table from him. His back still hurts, sure, and it's difficult to walk, but maybe his wounds number only half Sadiq's. Heracles rubs the edge of his cup, the chip from when it fell off the shelf during the second quake. Sadiq had helped him glue the tiny thing back together.
His own coffee long gone, Sadiq props his feet up on the low wall, content with staring at the passing clouds. Things are getting better. They are, because they have to be. They are, because it's finally time for them to.
"If..." Heracles keeps his eyes to his cup. "If you are feeling up to it, I'd like for us to go inside and be... civil."
And as bland as that sounds, it's probably the nicest thing he's said to Sadiq in years.
Silence and clouds pass between them before Sadiq reaches slowly across the table, bridges the distance, and takes that hand from the little cup. It fits so finely in his, just like always, and he brings it to his lips briefly. "Alright," he murmurs to knuckles, raw and red. "Alright."
Because, frankly, there's something to be said of mortality these days; it's a lesson Heracles' mother taught them both. It's one they both forgot.
Inside the house on the cliffs, whitewashed with a blue roof, Heracles cleans their dishes and makes a declaration with his back turned: "From now on, I'd like it if nothing we say in our houses leaves them."
Sadiq studies the tense back from his spot at the wall. "Alright," he says yet again.
"I mean it."
"I know."
And the contract begins.
Hot water drips from Heracles' hands as he sets the dishes out to dry. His back is still turned. He stares out the kitchen window. It's one of those times Sadiq knows he has to stay quiet if he wants Heracles to speak, so he waits, watches the clock on the wall and wonders how a grown man can possibly get away with Hello Kitty merchandise hanging in his kitchen so brazenly.
"I thought that you were going to die."
Sadiq glances back towards the sink, the window. "I'm still here."
"I mean back after... After your last royal boss left the throne."
"...ah."
"I mean, I am my mother's lands, but--"
"None of us know how this shit works, kid."
"I know." Heracles busies himself with a towel. "And I was glad. Glad that you would be gone."
That twists in Sadiq's stomach like a knife, but he'd be a damned fool to say it was a surprise.
"But this time..." Heracles shakes his head and finally turns; there aren't tears in his eyes or anything so sappy, just that same thoughtful look he always has. Maybe it's a little deeper this instance, maybe it's not. "I was worried about you."
"I know. You came to get me, put stitches in my head." Sadiq grins, crosses his arms. "Couldn'ta asked for a cuter nurse."
The flirtation is ignored, as always. "I know now, if you're gone, a part of myself is lost too."
That knife twists out of Sadiq's stomach, something warmer replacing it. Blood or honey, he's not sure which. "And also with you," he murmurs. None of their words will leave the kitchen; for better or worse, they'll stay there with the drying dishes and tic-tic-tock of the atrocious clock.
"I still have feelings for you. I just don't know what they are." Heracles stares at him, analyzing. "I just don't even know." It's puzzling to him, but, after all, Heracles loves puzzles, so he smiles just a bit.
On the other side of the room: It would be a lie to say that he missed it, to say he didn't slip into memories of Heracles at his side in anger or joy. And even though he'd promised to never do it again--never take what didn't belong to him--Sadiq couldn't quell his desire to make Heracles his. And it wasn't because he wanted some islands or territory; he wanted Heracles, as he stood before him. And that's when Sadiq knows it's become personal.
For the first time in a long time, Sadiq tells the truth about himself: "No one's gonna love you like I do. Not now, not ever."
There was just the slightest hitch of breath: "I should certainly hope not. I doubt I could survive it."