[ oneshot ] All The Things We Could Change [ Turkey/Greece ]
Title: All The Things We Could Change
Author: frostberryjam
Rated: PG.
Pairing: Turkey/Greece, alluded England/America.
Word Count: 1,350.
Warnings: Tinge cracky, except not really.
Summary: Turkey can’t blame the hangover for the bizarre day he’s having. Greece is actually treating him… nicely?
Author Notes: Written for inquisitorial. Turkey/Greece -- another life -- wanting what you can't have.
The pounding headache threatening to crack his skull open like the frail shell of an egg assured Turkey that it would be a few years, if not decades, before he’d be ready to join England for a friendly drink again. Somehow it always devolved into a rip-roaring competition over who could drink who under the table, and Turkey always won, hands down.
But winning came with a price. He was nursing his head even as he straightened his tie and made sure that his haggardness was confined to the interior. The next few hours were going to be hell on earth, with all the shouting and yelling that accompanied each and every single UN meeting. Fuck. He popped four painkillers along with a cup of steaming black coffee, unsweetened, needing the energy to get through the morning without declaring hasty war on someone for making his hangover worse.
When the pain ebbed to the point that he could peer out the window at the sunny cityscape without flinching, he stood and left his hotel room, shoulders braced for battle.
Unsurprisingly, as life had decided to hate him, the first person he ran into was Greece.
Fuck.
The other nation hadn’t take notice of him, standing at the end of the hallway, staring down at the city. With his back turned like that, there was a good chance that Turkey could simply slip into the meeting room. Yet the idea of slinking around avoiding confrontation irked his pride.
Thus, despite the vibrating whine of his sore head, he cleared his throat. “What’cha looking at?”
“Nothing, really.” Greece answered, his voice gentle and distracted. Turkey lifted an eyebrow, surprised at the soft tone. Greece continued to watch the street below, the lines of his body etched in relaxation. He didn’t seem to care at all that his worst enemy was at his back. “The others are going to be late. Still eating breakfast.”
The thought of food soured his stomach. Turkey grimaced and then with the devil sitting on his shoulder, took a step closer to Greece. Close enough that he could inhale the other’s clean scent, reminding him of olive trees and sea breeze. He was pushing the other, edging him on, knowing Greece couldn’t possibly tolerate Turkey’s nearness for long.
He had few pleasures in life since he stopped being an empire. Tormenting Greece was not one he was going to give up, even if all he wanted was to sleep.
Greece started finally, a small, surprised movement. He turned his head to regard Turkey with a strange look. It wasn’t one of anger. If anything it seemed puzzled. “You smell like whiskey.”
Turkey stilled. Their faces were close enough to exchange breaths. What the hell. Why wasn’t Greece on the offensive? The defensive? He peered into limpid green eyes, trying to get a read in them.
“Turkey?”
He frowned. Greece hadn’t called him by his name in the longest time. It was usually ‘you bastard’, if at all. “What?”
“What are you doing?” The other asked, curiously. “Because right now you’re three centimeters away from kissing me.”
“What?” Turkey’s gaze dropped down to Greece’s mouth and then jerked back up again to meet his eyes. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Greece gave him an odd look. “You don’t seem yourself today.”
He didn’t seem himself? Turkey worked his mouth, nothing coming out. The other gave him a speculative stare before turning away as the elevator dinged and opened.
“Bloody hell, America, bugger off! I‘m not in the mood for your insipid babble.”
“God, what’s up with you today? You’re even bitchier than usual.”
“I must agree with le petit prince, you do seem even more unpleasant than the norm.”
England snarled something in Old English and then zeroed in on Turkey. “Oh, Christ. You, come here.”
“Careful,” America advised as he opened the doors to the meeting room. France also seemed eager to avoid England, barely murmuring a ‘bon jour‘ before slipping inside. “He’s seriously pissed.”
Turkey straightened, stepping away from Greece. “So I see.” He remarked distractedly, and watched as Greece wandered in with America, listening to the other’s bright chatter. England sidled up to him, shoulders hunched close to his neck.
“You have a reason for--”
“Shut up, my head is killing me.”
Turkey smirked. Finally. The day was starting to look brighter. “Good.”
“Not good, idiot.” England raised a hand at Turkey’s narrowed gaze. “No, listen. You remember what we did last night?”
No. In fact, he didn’t really. But considering he’d ended up in his own room with all of his clothing on, he couldn’t imagine he’d done anything too terrible. Turkey merely frowned in silence and waited.
“I do.” England rubbed at his eyebrows with his thumbs, as if trying to tame them. “Also, I may remind you, this is all your fault, and it’ll fade away in a few days.”
The nonsensical conversation was grating Turkey’s nerves. He wanted to find Greece. Now. And question his bizarre behavior. “Get on with it.”
“You started talking about Greece after two bottles.”
“… did I.”
England gave him an almost pitying look. “At great length. Then we drank some more, and I’ll spare you the asinine details -- the end result is that you are going to have some strange days.”
He’d already started. “Why?”
“Because as of last night, you never had Greece.”
Turkey felt his head pulse. He didn’t think he’d heard right. “Run that by me again?”
“It’s the -- you know, magic thing--”
“What. Did. You. Do.” England’s ‘magic thing’ was a disaster. Usually harmless. Usually. Turkey resisted the urge to punch the man in the jaw. “What did you do?” He repeated, voice soft.
“I may have altered history. A little bit. I was sloshed, alright? It won’t last long.” England was quick to pick up on the violence thrumming the air. “Good God, man, it isn’t permanent. But right now, at this moment, you simply split from the Byzantine Empire and went on to do everything but gain control of Greece. So… Istanbul is still Constantinople, the Greek War of Independence never happened, and--” England paused. “Greece doesn’t hate you.”
The world lurched. Turkey put a hand on the paneled wall and fought to get his breath back, not caring that he had a witness to his momentary weakness. He was itchy all over suddenly, as if his very skin was rejecting the situation. “That’s not possible.”
“It is. For a few days. I told you, it’s not going to last. You’ll wake up one day and things will be back to normal, and no one will remember any of this. Look, Turkey, if I had a chance like this--” England averted his face. It didn’t take a brilliant mind to take a guess as to who he was thinking about. “I’d take advantage of it.”
Then he went into the meeting room, leaving Turkey stunned. He didn’t stir for long minutes, not until the elevator dinged again. He straightened, hearing snatches of Italian. The meeting was still on. He wasn’t sure he believed England. Not until he went inside himself and found his tagged seat, placed next to Greece.
The younger country flicked a glance his way then tilted his head in mute acknowledgment of his presence. There was no trace of hostility in the gesture. Greece was treating him with the same casual apathy he offered everyone else.
Turkey sat down and stared at his hands, mind a furious, whirling twister of thoughts until they settled on just one.
If I had a chance like this, I’d take advantage of it.
He reached out and trapped Greece‘s hand against the tabletop. “What would you do if I kissed ya?”
Those unreadable eyes settled on him again for a long, measured moment. Then Greece lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “I might kiss you back.”
Author: frostberryjam
Rated: PG.
Pairing: Turkey/Greece, alluded England/America.
Word Count: 1,350.
Warnings: Tinge cracky, except not really.
Summary: Turkey can’t blame the hangover for the bizarre day he’s having. Greece is actually treating him… nicely?
Author Notes: Written for inquisitorial. Turkey/Greece -- another life -- wanting what you can't have.
The pounding headache threatening to crack his skull open like the frail shell of an egg assured Turkey that it would be a few years, if not decades, before he’d be ready to join England for a friendly drink again. Somehow it always devolved into a rip-roaring competition over who could drink who under the table, and Turkey always won, hands down.
But winning came with a price. He was nursing his head even as he straightened his tie and made sure that his haggardness was confined to the interior. The next few hours were going to be hell on earth, with all the shouting and yelling that accompanied each and every single UN meeting. Fuck. He popped four painkillers along with a cup of steaming black coffee, unsweetened, needing the energy to get through the morning without declaring hasty war on someone for making his hangover worse.
When the pain ebbed to the point that he could peer out the window at the sunny cityscape without flinching, he stood and left his hotel room, shoulders braced for battle.
Unsurprisingly, as life had decided to hate him, the first person he ran into was Greece.
Fuck.
The other nation hadn’t take notice of him, standing at the end of the hallway, staring down at the city. With his back turned like that, there was a good chance that Turkey could simply slip into the meeting room. Yet the idea of slinking around avoiding confrontation irked his pride.
Thus, despite the vibrating whine of his sore head, he cleared his throat. “What’cha looking at?”
“Nothing, really.” Greece answered, his voice gentle and distracted. Turkey lifted an eyebrow, surprised at the soft tone. Greece continued to watch the street below, the lines of his body etched in relaxation. He didn’t seem to care at all that his worst enemy was at his back. “The others are going to be late. Still eating breakfast.”
The thought of food soured his stomach. Turkey grimaced and then with the devil sitting on his shoulder, took a step closer to Greece. Close enough that he could inhale the other’s clean scent, reminding him of olive trees and sea breeze. He was pushing the other, edging him on, knowing Greece couldn’t possibly tolerate Turkey’s nearness for long.
He had few pleasures in life since he stopped being an empire. Tormenting Greece was not one he was going to give up, even if all he wanted was to sleep.
Greece started finally, a small, surprised movement. He turned his head to regard Turkey with a strange look. It wasn’t one of anger. If anything it seemed puzzled. “You smell like whiskey.”
Turkey stilled. Their faces were close enough to exchange breaths. What the hell. Why wasn’t Greece on the offensive? The defensive? He peered into limpid green eyes, trying to get a read in them.
“Turkey?”
He frowned. Greece hadn’t called him by his name in the longest time. It was usually ‘you bastard’, if at all. “What?”
“What are you doing?” The other asked, curiously. “Because right now you’re three centimeters away from kissing me.”
“What?” Turkey’s gaze dropped down to Greece’s mouth and then jerked back up again to meet his eyes. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Greece gave him an odd look. “You don’t seem yourself today.”
He didn’t seem himself? Turkey worked his mouth, nothing coming out. The other gave him a speculative stare before turning away as the elevator dinged and opened.
“Bloody hell, America, bugger off! I‘m not in the mood for your insipid babble.”
“God, what’s up with you today? You’re even bitchier than usual.”
“I must agree with le petit prince, you do seem even more unpleasant than the norm.”
England snarled something in Old English and then zeroed in on Turkey. “Oh, Christ. You, come here.”
“Careful,” America advised as he opened the doors to the meeting room. France also seemed eager to avoid England, barely murmuring a ‘bon jour‘ before slipping inside. “He’s seriously pissed.”
Turkey straightened, stepping away from Greece. “So I see.” He remarked distractedly, and watched as Greece wandered in with America, listening to the other’s bright chatter. England sidled up to him, shoulders hunched close to his neck.
“You have a reason for--”
“Shut up, my head is killing me.”
Turkey smirked. Finally. The day was starting to look brighter. “Good.”
“Not good, idiot.” England raised a hand at Turkey’s narrowed gaze. “No, listen. You remember what we did last night?”
No. In fact, he didn’t really. But considering he’d ended up in his own room with all of his clothing on, he couldn’t imagine he’d done anything too terrible. Turkey merely frowned in silence and waited.
“I do.” England rubbed at his eyebrows with his thumbs, as if trying to tame them. “Also, I may remind you, this is all your fault, and it’ll fade away in a few days.”
The nonsensical conversation was grating Turkey’s nerves. He wanted to find Greece. Now. And question his bizarre behavior. “Get on with it.”
“You started talking about Greece after two bottles.”
“… did I.”
England gave him an almost pitying look. “At great length. Then we drank some more, and I’ll spare you the asinine details -- the end result is that you are going to have some strange days.”
He’d already started. “Why?”
“Because as of last night, you never had Greece.”
Turkey felt his head pulse. He didn’t think he’d heard right. “Run that by me again?”
“It’s the -- you know, magic thing--”
“What. Did. You. Do.” England’s ‘magic thing’ was a disaster. Usually harmless. Usually. Turkey resisted the urge to punch the man in the jaw. “What did you do?” He repeated, voice soft.
“I may have altered history. A little bit. I was sloshed, alright? It won’t last long.” England was quick to pick up on the violence thrumming the air. “Good God, man, it isn’t permanent. But right now, at this moment, you simply split from the Byzantine Empire and went on to do everything but gain control of Greece. So… Istanbul is still Constantinople, the Greek War of Independence never happened, and--” England paused. “Greece doesn’t hate you.”
The world lurched. Turkey put a hand on the paneled wall and fought to get his breath back, not caring that he had a witness to his momentary weakness. He was itchy all over suddenly, as if his very skin was rejecting the situation. “That’s not possible.”
“It is. For a few days. I told you, it’s not going to last. You’ll wake up one day and things will be back to normal, and no one will remember any of this. Look, Turkey, if I had a chance like this--” England averted his face. It didn’t take a brilliant mind to take a guess as to who he was thinking about. “I’d take advantage of it.”
Then he went into the meeting room, leaving Turkey stunned. He didn’t stir for long minutes, not until the elevator dinged again. He straightened, hearing snatches of Italian. The meeting was still on. He wasn’t sure he believed England. Not until he went inside himself and found his tagged seat, placed next to Greece.
The younger country flicked a glance his way then tilted his head in mute acknowledgment of his presence. There was no trace of hostility in the gesture. Greece was treating him with the same casual apathy he offered everyone else.
Turkey sat down and stared at his hands, mind a furious, whirling twister of thoughts until they settled on just one.
If I had a chance like this, I’d take advantage of it.
He reached out and trapped Greece‘s hand against the tabletop. “What would you do if I kissed ya?”
Those unreadable eyes settled on him again for a long, measured moment. Then Greece lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “I might kiss you back.”