[APH] Falling Without Knowing (two)
Title: Falling Without Knowing
Category: Axis Powers Hetalia / Hetalia World Series
Characters/Pairings: Greece/Japan, others mentioned
Genre/Rating/Warnings: romance, drama, sci-fi/PG/post apocalyptic space opera, switching between country and human names
Summary/Excerpt: The nations are living in their own planets, united under one galaxy. By strict decree, they are unable to see or travel to each other and any sort of communication is under the Council's heavy surveillance. New Greece is bothered by the memories of his former self, especially those of a certain island nation. He is willing to break boundaries, cross time and space to know if a connection between them still exists.
A/N: It's the 11th over here so HAPPY FOUNDATION DAY JAPAN! \O\\O//O/ Shout outs go to chromatic_coma for the wonderful, wonderful beta, darkhue and her Giripan FST, transcontinental, where I got the inspiration for this entire story and elladaa.tumblr.com where all my chapter headers come from :'3 Thank you everyone for the awesome comments! ILU GUYS >////<
one | TWO | three | four | five | six
In this installment: Herakles tries to distract himself from the confusion he feels about his memories of Japan.
The feeling was psychic, passing through, electric
My palm against your fingers, pressing needles through my wrist
Hearts meet, though we didn't speak of those things
Corporal Cat awoke to the living room baked warm by the evening starlight and the sound of furious typing coming from the kitchen. She got to her feet and took a peek.
Herakles sat in front of his computer with only a pair of reading glasses on. The Butterflies he had borrowed from the Library were scattered on the dining table. Cables and plugs he'd used to view them lay in a tangled heap. A dirty dinner plate was stashed in the sink.
"Hera?" Corporal asked. "What are you still doing? It's late."
True enough, despite the sky, the clock read 1:25am.
"It's…" Herakles leaned back in his seat and ran a hand through his hair. "It's nothing important," he said and returned to his work, completely negating the non-urgency of his occupation.
Corporal Cat made a gesture of nonchalance before sitting by his chair and washing herself. Usually she did not care much for the affairs of humans, but she was very fond of Herakles. She also knew very well what he was doing. He was trying to break through security the Council had heaped on the planet. This security prevented anyone from viewing space outside their planets and Herakles' hobby was mapping the stars.
He had told her once that it was therapeutic, like cooking on Sunday mornings, cross-stitching or jogging at the park. Corporal wasn't sure what that meant, but she did notice how he only worked excessively after viewing his Butterflies. She couldn't comprehend what in those things bothered Herakles so much and could only imagine what went on inside him. She wasn't too surprised that the man often wanted to escape such chaos.
"You'd better stop that," Corporal said. "What if the Council catches you?"
"They don't care what I do in my country," Herakles replied, not looking up from typing. "Besides, this is for my own personal…recreation."
Corporal Cat sighed and settled comfortably between his legs. Yet another firewall popped up on the computer screen and Herakles swore under his breath. Indeed, breaking through Council security had potentially disastrous consequences but the danger and guesswork were thrilling.
The Council was none other than the leaders of Project Satellite whose Butterflies were never placed in bodies of their own. They remained wired to their ship, the Shangri La, and as promised, oversaw the entire Satellite System. They had a solid set of rules that were relatively easy to keep.
Everyone within the System should know of its history as well as that of their own nation. Everyone within the System learned about the existences of other nation-planets and studied their culture as they would have on Earth. Direct contact or travel anywhere outside one's respective was strictly forbidden and interplanetary communication was under heavy surveillance. According to them, the hazard of direct contact was like sending an Earth astronaut to the Moon without a space suit.
The Council however, was lenient with affairs inside a planet. All they needed from the nations were regular reports on how their planets were, and how they'd run it was entirely up to them-if and when they'd impart their Butterflies, what they chose to build or reinvent to make adapting easier. The logic behind this was that if one country led itself to destruction, the others wouldn't be pulled down.
It looked great in theory, but Herakles wasn't sure how long the arrangement would last. Granted, there was cooperation from all the nations because everyone was still busy setting their planets straight. But after all the history had been imparted and their countries running smoothly, what would happen next? He was quite positive there weren't many nations who would be satisfied with just sending emails to each other and he was sure that there were people who wouldn't stop learning about other countries from books alone, especially when the Earth they left had almost all borders open and every culture crisscrossed with the others.
Three firewalls that suddenly appeared on Herakles' computer screen jolted him from his thoughts. Corporal Cat shifted in her sleep and he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose before trying out more passwords.
Herakles didn't want to think he was in a rebellious phase. He simply wanted to view more of the world outside his country and map it. He wasn't sure why this occupation exactly. He was driven by an unnamed fascination and the need to have his questions answered. Which questions exactly, he couldn't say, and only hoped it would be a lot.
In a minimized window was a sketch like an unfinished MS Paint file of what surrounded his planet 100,000 feet above its atmosphere. He was a little disappointed that he was nowhere near discovering the locations of other planets, let alone knowing how far apart they were from each other (not that knowing was his goal, no…maybe).
A merry ding chimed from the computer.
"I'm in!" Herakles exclaimed, waking Corporal Cat up. "Today's password was harder to figure out."
She looked at him typing with renewed fervor before walking away to settle by the kitchen doorway instead. "Be careful with that hobby of yours. Don't password changes mean your Council knows their security's being breached?"
"Not really," Herakles replied. "All the security passwords change every day. I guess it's protocol."
The window that maximized on his screen was not the view of the sky outside his planet. It was an endless scroll of numbers, representations of signals that bounced off space and solid objects such as meteors or pieces of it. These spaces were encoded as zeroes and solids ranged from one to nine depending on how large or far apart they were. Herakles proceeded to digitally draw these estimates on his unfinished map as did the first men who dared make sense of the stars.
The kitchen was quiet.
Only the whir of the computer, square taps on the keyboard and occasional clicking punctuated the air. It was comfortable somewhat. He could almost say he was perfectly distracted, if only the slight ache in his chest wasn't persistent and the memories from the Butterflies he recently viewed stopped prickling at the backs of his eyes.
As Herakles traced Point A to Point B, he realized his first meeting with the nation of Japan wasn't remarkable, nor were the several meetings after that.
Butterfly 19 - 1982 Tokyo 08:12 Strengthening cultural ties with Japan
"You've been on friendly terms since 1899," his Prime Minister says. "Well, it's mostly your scholars who have been interacting. Now that the politics has smoothed over recently, I thought it was time to bring these cultural exchanges to a more engaging level? Not just for political reasons of course. I brought you along because you'd be genuinely interested in what they've shown. You like these things, don't you?"
In one ear and out the other. Herakles wonders if the man is nervous. After all, they will be meeting with the Prime Minister of Japan.
There is a quaint crowd milling about the Nippon Budokan. Admission to the Greece-Japan cultural exhibit was free, except for the short plays to be staged later in the evening. The fee is reasonable and anyone interested can watch.
"Go ahead and have a look around," his Prime Minister says. "I'll call you when it's time for the meeting." And he leaves with his escorts in a worried flourish.
Herakles stands in the middle of the hall in a country he's never really been to before and decides that these are the times he should shrug and go with the flow. It might lead him somewhere.
He weaves in and out of the curious mix of art lovers, cultural enthusiasts, scholars, students, families and interested folk. He hears snippets of conversation in a language he doesn't understand and thinks they are pretty sounds.
And while idling by a display of Japanese swords, he feels something zing through the air, like an electric spark and it resonates in his chest like a gong. It's familiar and Herakles almost laughs out loud. Someone like him is nearby, and it doesn't take three guesses to figure out who.
On instinct, Herakles seeks this person out and sees him by the travel agency's booth, leafing through a brochure of Crete with the most pensive of faces. He moves closer and the gonging inside him ceases.
Japan is a beautiful man. Something in his person strikes Herakles as profound. The man is small yet regal and the Greek is drawn to him by a common fondness for meeting nations like himself.
"Would you like to go there?" he asks in English and Japan jumps in surprise. He wheels around and their eyes meet.
Something awkward teeters at the edge of a cliff and Herakles isn't quite sure what to do next. He steps back in shock as Japan's low bow almost hits him.
"Greece-san, it is nice to meet you at last."
Herakles stopped typing and wondered if he should attribute some sort of significance to their meeting. It was baffling how little emotion there was in the memory. Compared to the long-standing grudges he bore toward some people, the melancholic lurches in his chest triggered by others, immense comfort and homely joy he found in close friends and the general apathy he had for everyone else, these fleeting bouts of happiness shouldn't feel as important as they did. He wouldn't put it past his old self telling him it was exactly because the feeling was so fleeting that made it much more precious.
Then he'd call his old self ridiculous because there wasn't any point to keep such trivialities in high regard, especially if trivialities were all they were going to be.
But somewhere at the back of his mind, Herakles heard himself say 'Look at it like rainfall on the desert; you see the sun evaporate all the water on the surface but what you don't see is the water that trickles through the earth. There's a river under there.' He thinks it's unfair, being unable to understand fragments of an entire experience and continues to type furiously.
Butterfly 19 - 1985 Delphi-Sparta-Athens 16:42 Visiting week
He takes him to all the tourist spots because it's the first thing people always want to see. Japan is courteous and drinks in all the stories and history, snapping photos at five minute intervals. Herakles shares his enthusiasm. It's been a while since anyone who wasn't in the profession of enjoying ancient infrastructure lit up in the same way Japan does. Herakles watches him bring a careful hand to old stone in quiet awe and something warm fills his chest.
"Do you like the ruins?" he asks and Japan nods.
"There is a certain charm to them," he says. "And their histories are fascinating. It's remarkable how people have built them so large and timeless even with limited resources."
"Then I'll show you more," Herakles decides and takes Japan's hand. He feels it jerk in his grip. There is heat.
"Please, you have shown me around so much-"
"I insist."
They arrive at his mother's ruins by sunset. There are no excavations being made and the grounds are silent. Herakles slides down a dusty slope and holds Japan as he follows. Together, they walk amongst fallen marble and broken ceramic silhouetted against a spread of orange sky.
For a long while, it feels like the two of them are the only survivors from the destruction of an old old world. The earth beneath them breathes and the ruin becomes a sacred place.
Their hands are still joined.
Herakles meticulously labelled the space rocks he had drawn because he needed to, and it reminded him of how his first conversations with Japan were pleasantries. They were mutually interested in each other's cultures and started out with exchanging stories they may have already known.
It was funny how the less they talked about themselves, the more they found out about each other. The awkward silences filled with the obligation to keep the conversation going turned into talk of small, everyday things. Looking back on it, Herakles wondered if Japan truly enjoyed their conversations. They would have struck anyone else as shallow.
He and Japan were weird together, and because they might have missed a step in their relationship or because pleasantries were the new prelude to intimacy that they grew closer without making an effort to bridge their differences.
Herakles wouldn't be able to understand this either, because he's never met Japan and that was also unfair.
Butterfly 20 - 2009 Andalusia 05:03 Jamming during Spain's picnic
They are intruding on an old grandmother's privacy as they hold one of their regular get togethers in her home at the countryside, courtesy of Spain. She doesn't mind though, and dotes on them.
"My country is like my favorite grandson," she says as she serves them hot chocolate.
"Oh abuela!" Spain answers jovially and kisses her cheek.
Germany, Veneziano and Japan emerge from the kitchen bearing sun-dried tomato pasta, rum cake and onigiri. They gather around the picnic table set up in the garden and Romano pops open a bottle of wine to go with their lunch. Herakles thinks it's amazing, as he serves slices of spinach and feta pizza, that they could sit at table like this and eat, talk and laugh with the ones they love.
The old grandmother tells them stories of her husband and her children, of bygone years and antiquated cooking methods. Spain reminisces along with her and the Italies animatedly exchange versions of their own. Herakles entertains them with myths and Germany shares the goings on in his home. Japan quietly listens as they enjoy the food.
They forgo siesta for a quick trip to the beach. Early evening catches them pink cheeked and barefoot around a campfire. The basket of fruits and churros had long been eaten and crumbs mingled with sand. Spain and Romano bring out their guitars and strum the chords to a song they all know the words to. Germany claps along and Veneziano sings his heart out to the waking stars. Japan hums uncertainly and somewhere between 'esta en mi garganta' and 'te quiero!' Herakles takes his hand to squeeze.
'Please share this with me,' says the tightening of his fingers.
The smile Japan gives him in reply fill his heart to bursting.
It's all foreign, Herakles thought bitterly as his map spread out like the spider web of his thinning patience. Frankly put, he was angry and envious of his old self-angry because he couldn't get into his memories, feel and claim them as his own and envious because he wanted it all too. He wanted this new body to experience what his memories contained.
Butterfly 20 - 2010 Santorini 13:52 Visiting week
It starts with a survey.
They pose musings about the world, themselves and their countries and let the conversations take their natural courses. They’ve gotten mad together, named cats together, played hand games and saw tangerines on minarets.
So as he runs his hands down Japan's sides, feels him pulse and throb around him, tells him to breath as he tightly grips the sheets and moans the sweetest sounds he's ever heard, Herakles doesn't think this is an achievement. As he feels Japan shudder and drinks the scent of his hair with every blinding thrust, Herakles knows they now share something more special than anything they have shared in the past.
Gravity tugs from within their bellies and they come undone with sparks shooting up their spines.
Japan smiles breathlessly at him, despite the protests and embarrassment earlier that evening. Somewhere far away, China yells at them to shut up and Herakles thinks he is blessed.
He stood up forcefully, making his dining chair skid backward with a screech. He switched off his computer with an angry snap and went to the bathroom to wash his face.
Corporal Cat followed him curiously, no doubt wondering what could have happened to disrupt his work. She saw him hunched over the sink, staring at his reflection in the mirror as if he were about to punch it. His large hands balled into tight fists as he let out a breath of air.
"Got a headache," Herakles said with an apologetic smile when he caught her staring. "What time is it?"
"Six in the morning," Corporal answered coolly. "Rest in the house today. If you go outside, I'll bite your tail off."
"Ah-" He watched her slink to the garden and sighed. Despite the annoyance in her voice, Herakles knew Corporal was only concerned. Guilt and gratitude twinged in his chest and he decided he wasn't going to chase after his past, not anymore. He was going to live, not for someone else, but for himself.
Morning light streamed in through the bathroom window.
"How was Athens?" Corporal Cat greeted as Herakles squeezed through his front door flushed from travel and laden with gifts from his one week visit to the countryside.
"It was amazing," he said, dusting off his sandals and arranging his souvenirs on the living room couch for later sorting. The fruits and food he stored in the kitchen. "They had real aged wine, probably the first bottle ever made here and enough ingredients for horiatiki. The sky was the bluest I've ever seen and they had more plants than the Botanical Gardens. It's really refreshing to see what they've done over the years. So much space! You would have enjoyed it," Herakles prattled on excitedly and Corporal hummed in absent acknowledgement.
"You know I dislike traveling on your transport," she said. "But if I disappear in the next week, you'll know I took up your offer."
Herakles gave a laugh and removed his jeans before entering the shower. "Did anything happen while I was gone?"
"Your violets died," Corporal answered casually.
"What?!" His voice echoed above the gush of running water. "Didn't you water it?"
"I did!" It was a lie she found amusing. "A kixitʊ bit the leaves off and I killed it." After a pause, she added. "I wouldn't know about your emails though."
"I understand. I'm staying in tomorrow to check them all. Did anything spoil?"
"See for yourself," Corporal replied and with that, she left to go about her business.
Herakles entered the kitchen with only a towel for drying his hair. He got bread and cheese from the cupboard, threw out week-old left over dinners and turned on his computer.
There were notes of thanks from the mayor of Athens among the back log of his usual daily reports. From the Council were regular newsletters, hellos from a few nations but nothing much besides. Herakles duly read the more urgent ones before closing his mail so he could be free to do what he was really in the mood for. And perhaps he was feeling quite cheerful that the Council's security was easy to break into.
Herakles looked at his map and watched the numbers scroll down, reviewing what he had already drawn. But after reaching more than a million feet above his planet's atmosphere, something didn’t look right.
There were gaps in the numbers-small gaps unnoticeable at the speed with which the numbers were scrolling, but Herakles saw them. It was perplexing. They couldn't be space because both space and solids were encoded as numbers. If there should be any explanation, it would be that the radar couldn't bounce off it, as if these gaps ate up its signals.
Out of curiosity, he clicked one.
His window of numbers vanished. Herakles sat in stiff puzzlement for a few minutes, wondering if he had done anything he'd regret. But after a while, the window returned, full with numbers as if nothing happened. There was, however, a second window that appeared, blank and black like a command box used to input coding.
The cursor blinked steadily, waiting.
Herakles typed a 'hello'.
hello
It answered back and the heat left his fingers. His heart began pounding painfully, excitedly. Was…was this it? Had he been caught? There weren't any spaceships coming to abduct and punish him…yet. His stomach sank and he looked around the empty kitchen for good measure.
is this the council
'No,' Herakles typed back. 'Are you looking for them?'
oh good
i was not looking for them
There was relief there. He could tell because he felt it took, like a shot of liquor down his throat. But his heartbeat wasn't calming down.
who is this
Herakles blinked at the question. Was it alright to be honest? He tried to remember his Butterflies from the 2000s. People were more open with strangers on the internet because they knew they were under no obligation to keep in touch with the people they met. But was that really the case? That if you talked constantly without seeing each other in person, there wouldn't be any sort of connection forged? He was inclined to disagree…
His hands hovered over the keyboard.
are you a nation
What? His mind began to race. So…so…was this mystery person a nation like himself? He let out a shaky laugh. So he wasn't the only one. He wasn't the only who wanted to break free from all their restrictions. Was that what this meant? He hoped it was. His body moved on its own. 'Yes,' he said. 'I am New Greece. You are?'
There was a tense pause.
herakles san
Herakles froze. (Could it be? Could it be? This was too much of a coincidence!) He almost heard his name, instead of seeing it on screen, spoken in a low voice, gentle with question at the end.
ah
probably
Only one person talked to him like that. And that person came with fleeting bouts of happiness, rivers in the desert, quiet hands and the clean smell of unpolished rice. The one person who absolutely baffled him. And may his mother's gods strike if he still couldn't remember his name and say it like he used to. They had taken a long time before they called each other by their names.
'Kiku. Japan.'
yes
hello
And just as some mysterious mix of dread, desire, longing, guilt and confusion pooled in his belly, Corporal Cat came in through the back door.
"What are you doing?" she deadpanned when she saw Herakles in a most ridiculous, back-breaking pose of shielding his computer, like a kid caught red-handed.
"Corporal, " he began warily. " I know you keep secrets for me, but swear you'll guard this one with your life."
At first she wanted to scold him, bat his head with her large paw and step on his tail, demanding why she should keep any secret of his at all. But at his tone and the plea in his eyes, Corporal simply nodded and nudged the door shut.
to chapter three
Category: Axis Powers Hetalia / Hetalia World Series
Characters/Pairings: Greece/Japan, others mentioned
Genre/Rating/Warnings: romance, drama, sci-fi/PG/post apocalyptic space opera, switching between country and human names
Summary/Excerpt: The nations are living in their own planets, united under one galaxy. By strict decree, they are unable to see or travel to each other and any sort of communication is under the Council's heavy surveillance. New Greece is bothered by the memories of his former self, especially those of a certain island nation. He is willing to break boundaries, cross time and space to know if a connection between them still exists.
A/N: It's the 11th over here so HAPPY FOUNDATION DAY JAPAN! \O\\O//O/ Shout outs go to chromatic_coma for the wonderful, wonderful beta, darkhue and her Giripan FST, transcontinental, where I got the inspiration for this entire story and elladaa.tumblr.com where all my chapter headers come from :'3 Thank you everyone for the awesome comments! ILU GUYS >////<
one | TWO | three | four | five | six
In this installment: Herakles tries to distract himself from the confusion he feels about his memories of Japan.
The feeling was psychic, passing through, electric
My palm against your fingers, pressing needles through my wrist
Hearts meet, though we didn't speak of those things
Corporal Cat awoke to the living room baked warm by the evening starlight and the sound of furious typing coming from the kitchen. She got to her feet and took a peek.
Herakles sat in front of his computer with only a pair of reading glasses on. The Butterflies he had borrowed from the Library were scattered on the dining table. Cables and plugs he'd used to view them lay in a tangled heap. A dirty dinner plate was stashed in the sink.
"Hera?" Corporal asked. "What are you still doing? It's late."
True enough, despite the sky, the clock read 1:25am.
"It's…" Herakles leaned back in his seat and ran a hand through his hair. "It's nothing important," he said and returned to his work, completely negating the non-urgency of his occupation.
Corporal Cat made a gesture of nonchalance before sitting by his chair and washing herself. Usually she did not care much for the affairs of humans, but she was very fond of Herakles. She also knew very well what he was doing. He was trying to break through security the Council had heaped on the planet. This security prevented anyone from viewing space outside their planets and Herakles' hobby was mapping the stars.
He had told her once that it was therapeutic, like cooking on Sunday mornings, cross-stitching or jogging at the park. Corporal wasn't sure what that meant, but she did notice how he only worked excessively after viewing his Butterflies. She couldn't comprehend what in those things bothered Herakles so much and could only imagine what went on inside him. She wasn't too surprised that the man often wanted to escape such chaos.
"You'd better stop that," Corporal said. "What if the Council catches you?"
"They don't care what I do in my country," Herakles replied, not looking up from typing. "Besides, this is for my own personal…recreation."
Corporal Cat sighed and settled comfortably between his legs. Yet another firewall popped up on the computer screen and Herakles swore under his breath. Indeed, breaking through Council security had potentially disastrous consequences but the danger and guesswork were thrilling.
The Council was none other than the leaders of Project Satellite whose Butterflies were never placed in bodies of their own. They remained wired to their ship, the Shangri La, and as promised, oversaw the entire Satellite System. They had a solid set of rules that were relatively easy to keep.
Everyone within the System should know of its history as well as that of their own nation. Everyone within the System learned about the existences of other nation-planets and studied their culture as they would have on Earth. Direct contact or travel anywhere outside one's respective was strictly forbidden and interplanetary communication was under heavy surveillance. According to them, the hazard of direct contact was like sending an Earth astronaut to the Moon without a space suit.
The Council however, was lenient with affairs inside a planet. All they needed from the nations were regular reports on how their planets were, and how they'd run it was entirely up to them-if and when they'd impart their Butterflies, what they chose to build or reinvent to make adapting easier. The logic behind this was that if one country led itself to destruction, the others wouldn't be pulled down.
It looked great in theory, but Herakles wasn't sure how long the arrangement would last. Granted, there was cooperation from all the nations because everyone was still busy setting their planets straight. But after all the history had been imparted and their countries running smoothly, what would happen next? He was quite positive there weren't many nations who would be satisfied with just sending emails to each other and he was sure that there were people who wouldn't stop learning about other countries from books alone, especially when the Earth they left had almost all borders open and every culture crisscrossed with the others.
Three firewalls that suddenly appeared on Herakles' computer screen jolted him from his thoughts. Corporal Cat shifted in her sleep and he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose before trying out more passwords.
Herakles didn't want to think he was in a rebellious phase. He simply wanted to view more of the world outside his country and map it. He wasn't sure why this occupation exactly. He was driven by an unnamed fascination and the need to have his questions answered. Which questions exactly, he couldn't say, and only hoped it would be a lot.
In a minimized window was a sketch like an unfinished MS Paint file of what surrounded his planet 100,000 feet above its atmosphere. He was a little disappointed that he was nowhere near discovering the locations of other planets, let alone knowing how far apart they were from each other (not that knowing was his goal, no…maybe).
A merry ding chimed from the computer.
"I'm in!" Herakles exclaimed, waking Corporal Cat up. "Today's password was harder to figure out."
She looked at him typing with renewed fervor before walking away to settle by the kitchen doorway instead. "Be careful with that hobby of yours. Don't password changes mean your Council knows their security's being breached?"
"Not really," Herakles replied. "All the security passwords change every day. I guess it's protocol."
The window that maximized on his screen was not the view of the sky outside his planet. It was an endless scroll of numbers, representations of signals that bounced off space and solid objects such as meteors or pieces of it. These spaces were encoded as zeroes and solids ranged from one to nine depending on how large or far apart they were. Herakles proceeded to digitally draw these estimates on his unfinished map as did the first men who dared make sense of the stars.
The kitchen was quiet.
Only the whir of the computer, square taps on the keyboard and occasional clicking punctuated the air. It was comfortable somewhat. He could almost say he was perfectly distracted, if only the slight ache in his chest wasn't persistent and the memories from the Butterflies he recently viewed stopped prickling at the backs of his eyes.
As Herakles traced Point A to Point B, he realized his first meeting with the nation of Japan wasn't remarkable, nor were the several meetings after that.
Butterfly 19 - 1982 Tokyo 08:12 Strengthening cultural ties with Japan
"You've been on friendly terms since 1899," his Prime Minister says. "Well, it's mostly your scholars who have been interacting. Now that the politics has smoothed over recently, I thought it was time to bring these cultural exchanges to a more engaging level? Not just for political reasons of course. I brought you along because you'd be genuinely interested in what they've shown. You like these things, don't you?"
In one ear and out the other. Herakles wonders if the man is nervous. After all, they will be meeting with the Prime Minister of Japan.
There is a quaint crowd milling about the Nippon Budokan. Admission to the Greece-Japan cultural exhibit was free, except for the short plays to be staged later in the evening. The fee is reasonable and anyone interested can watch.
"Go ahead and have a look around," his Prime Minister says. "I'll call you when it's time for the meeting." And he leaves with his escorts in a worried flourish.
Herakles stands in the middle of the hall in a country he's never really been to before and decides that these are the times he should shrug and go with the flow. It might lead him somewhere.
He weaves in and out of the curious mix of art lovers, cultural enthusiasts, scholars, students, families and interested folk. He hears snippets of conversation in a language he doesn't understand and thinks they are pretty sounds.
And while idling by a display of Japanese swords, he feels something zing through the air, like an electric spark and it resonates in his chest like a gong. It's familiar and Herakles almost laughs out loud. Someone like him is nearby, and it doesn't take three guesses to figure out who.
On instinct, Herakles seeks this person out and sees him by the travel agency's booth, leafing through a brochure of Crete with the most pensive of faces. He moves closer and the gonging inside him ceases.
Japan is a beautiful man. Something in his person strikes Herakles as profound. The man is small yet regal and the Greek is drawn to him by a common fondness for meeting nations like himself.
"Would you like to go there?" he asks in English and Japan jumps in surprise. He wheels around and their eyes meet.
Something awkward teeters at the edge of a cliff and Herakles isn't quite sure what to do next. He steps back in shock as Japan's low bow almost hits him.
"Greece-san, it is nice to meet you at last."
Herakles stopped typing and wondered if he should attribute some sort of significance to their meeting. It was baffling how little emotion there was in the memory. Compared to the long-standing grudges he bore toward some people, the melancholic lurches in his chest triggered by others, immense comfort and homely joy he found in close friends and the general apathy he had for everyone else, these fleeting bouts of happiness shouldn't feel as important as they did. He wouldn't put it past his old self telling him it was exactly because the feeling was so fleeting that made it much more precious.
Then he'd call his old self ridiculous because there wasn't any point to keep such trivialities in high regard, especially if trivialities were all they were going to be.
But somewhere at the back of his mind, Herakles heard himself say 'Look at it like rainfall on the desert; you see the sun evaporate all the water on the surface but what you don't see is the water that trickles through the earth. There's a river under there.' He thinks it's unfair, being unable to understand fragments of an entire experience and continues to type furiously.
Butterfly 19 - 1985 Delphi-Sparta-Athens 16:42 Visiting week
He takes him to all the tourist spots because it's the first thing people always want to see. Japan is courteous and drinks in all the stories and history, snapping photos at five minute intervals. Herakles shares his enthusiasm. It's been a while since anyone who wasn't in the profession of enjoying ancient infrastructure lit up in the same way Japan does. Herakles watches him bring a careful hand to old stone in quiet awe and something warm fills his chest.
"Do you like the ruins?" he asks and Japan nods.
"There is a certain charm to them," he says. "And their histories are fascinating. It's remarkable how people have built them so large and timeless even with limited resources."
"Then I'll show you more," Herakles decides and takes Japan's hand. He feels it jerk in his grip. There is heat.
"Please, you have shown me around so much-"
"I insist."
They arrive at his mother's ruins by sunset. There are no excavations being made and the grounds are silent. Herakles slides down a dusty slope and holds Japan as he follows. Together, they walk amongst fallen marble and broken ceramic silhouetted against a spread of orange sky.
For a long while, it feels like the two of them are the only survivors from the destruction of an old old world. The earth beneath them breathes and the ruin becomes a sacred place.
Their hands are still joined.
Herakles meticulously labelled the space rocks he had drawn because he needed to, and it reminded him of how his first conversations with Japan were pleasantries. They were mutually interested in each other's cultures and started out with exchanging stories they may have already known.
It was funny how the less they talked about themselves, the more they found out about each other. The awkward silences filled with the obligation to keep the conversation going turned into talk of small, everyday things. Looking back on it, Herakles wondered if Japan truly enjoyed their conversations. They would have struck anyone else as shallow.
He and Japan were weird together, and because they might have missed a step in their relationship or because pleasantries were the new prelude to intimacy that they grew closer without making an effort to bridge their differences.
Herakles wouldn't be able to understand this either, because he's never met Japan and that was also unfair.
Butterfly 20 - 2009 Andalusia 05:03 Jamming during Spain's picnic
They are intruding on an old grandmother's privacy as they hold one of their regular get togethers in her home at the countryside, courtesy of Spain. She doesn't mind though, and dotes on them.
"My country is like my favorite grandson," she says as she serves them hot chocolate.
"Oh abuela!" Spain answers jovially and kisses her cheek.
Germany, Veneziano and Japan emerge from the kitchen bearing sun-dried tomato pasta, rum cake and onigiri. They gather around the picnic table set up in the garden and Romano pops open a bottle of wine to go with their lunch. Herakles thinks it's amazing, as he serves slices of spinach and feta pizza, that they could sit at table like this and eat, talk and laugh with the ones they love.
The old grandmother tells them stories of her husband and her children, of bygone years and antiquated cooking methods. Spain reminisces along with her and the Italies animatedly exchange versions of their own. Herakles entertains them with myths and Germany shares the goings on in his home. Japan quietly listens as they enjoy the food.
They forgo siesta for a quick trip to the beach. Early evening catches them pink cheeked and barefoot around a campfire. The basket of fruits and churros had long been eaten and crumbs mingled with sand. Spain and Romano bring out their guitars and strum the chords to a song they all know the words to. Germany claps along and Veneziano sings his heart out to the waking stars. Japan hums uncertainly and somewhere between 'esta en mi garganta' and 'te quiero!' Herakles takes his hand to squeeze.
'Please share this with me,' says the tightening of his fingers.
The smile Japan gives him in reply fill his heart to bursting.
It's all foreign, Herakles thought bitterly as his map spread out like the spider web of his thinning patience. Frankly put, he was angry and envious of his old self-angry because he couldn't get into his memories, feel and claim them as his own and envious because he wanted it all too. He wanted this new body to experience what his memories contained.
Butterfly 20 - 2010 Santorini 13:52 Visiting week
It starts with a survey.
They pose musings about the world, themselves and their countries and let the conversations take their natural courses. They’ve gotten mad together, named cats together, played hand games and saw tangerines on minarets.
So as he runs his hands down Japan's sides, feels him pulse and throb around him, tells him to breath as he tightly grips the sheets and moans the sweetest sounds he's ever heard, Herakles doesn't think this is an achievement. As he feels Japan shudder and drinks the scent of his hair with every blinding thrust, Herakles knows they now share something more special than anything they have shared in the past.
Gravity tugs from within their bellies and they come undone with sparks shooting up their spines.
Japan smiles breathlessly at him, despite the protests and embarrassment earlier that evening. Somewhere far away, China yells at them to shut up and Herakles thinks he is blessed.
He stood up forcefully, making his dining chair skid backward with a screech. He switched off his computer with an angry snap and went to the bathroom to wash his face.
Corporal Cat followed him curiously, no doubt wondering what could have happened to disrupt his work. She saw him hunched over the sink, staring at his reflection in the mirror as if he were about to punch it. His large hands balled into tight fists as he let out a breath of air.
"Got a headache," Herakles said with an apologetic smile when he caught her staring. "What time is it?"
"Six in the morning," Corporal answered coolly. "Rest in the house today. If you go outside, I'll bite your tail off."
"Ah-" He watched her slink to the garden and sighed. Despite the annoyance in her voice, Herakles knew Corporal was only concerned. Guilt and gratitude twinged in his chest and he decided he wasn't going to chase after his past, not anymore. He was going to live, not for someone else, but for himself.
Morning light streamed in through the bathroom window.
"How was Athens?" Corporal Cat greeted as Herakles squeezed through his front door flushed from travel and laden with gifts from his one week visit to the countryside.
"It was amazing," he said, dusting off his sandals and arranging his souvenirs on the living room couch for later sorting. The fruits and food he stored in the kitchen. "They had real aged wine, probably the first bottle ever made here and enough ingredients for horiatiki. The sky was the bluest I've ever seen and they had more plants than the Botanical Gardens. It's really refreshing to see what they've done over the years. So much space! You would have enjoyed it," Herakles prattled on excitedly and Corporal hummed in absent acknowledgement.
"You know I dislike traveling on your transport," she said. "But if I disappear in the next week, you'll know I took up your offer."
Herakles gave a laugh and removed his jeans before entering the shower. "Did anything happen while I was gone?"
"Your violets died," Corporal answered casually.
"What?!" His voice echoed above the gush of running water. "Didn't you water it?"
"I did!" It was a lie she found amusing. "A kixitʊ bit the leaves off and I killed it." After a pause, she added. "I wouldn't know about your emails though."
"I understand. I'm staying in tomorrow to check them all. Did anything spoil?"
"See for yourself," Corporal replied and with that, she left to go about her business.
Herakles entered the kitchen with only a towel for drying his hair. He got bread and cheese from the cupboard, threw out week-old left over dinners and turned on his computer.
There were notes of thanks from the mayor of Athens among the back log of his usual daily reports. From the Council were regular newsletters, hellos from a few nations but nothing much besides. Herakles duly read the more urgent ones before closing his mail so he could be free to do what he was really in the mood for. And perhaps he was feeling quite cheerful that the Council's security was easy to break into.
Herakles looked at his map and watched the numbers scroll down, reviewing what he had already drawn. But after reaching more than a million feet above his planet's atmosphere, something didn’t look right.
There were gaps in the numbers-small gaps unnoticeable at the speed with which the numbers were scrolling, but Herakles saw them. It was perplexing. They couldn't be space because both space and solids were encoded as numbers. If there should be any explanation, it would be that the radar couldn't bounce off it, as if these gaps ate up its signals.
Out of curiosity, he clicked one.
His window of numbers vanished. Herakles sat in stiff puzzlement for a few minutes, wondering if he had done anything he'd regret. But after a while, the window returned, full with numbers as if nothing happened. There was, however, a second window that appeared, blank and black like a command box used to input coding.
The cursor blinked steadily, waiting.
Herakles typed a 'hello'.
hello
It answered back and the heat left his fingers. His heart began pounding painfully, excitedly. Was…was this it? Had he been caught? There weren't any spaceships coming to abduct and punish him…yet. His stomach sank and he looked around the empty kitchen for good measure.
is this the council
'No,' Herakles typed back. 'Are you looking for them?'
oh good
i was not looking for them
There was relief there. He could tell because he felt it took, like a shot of liquor down his throat. But his heartbeat wasn't calming down.
who is this
Herakles blinked at the question. Was it alright to be honest? He tried to remember his Butterflies from the 2000s. People were more open with strangers on the internet because they knew they were under no obligation to keep in touch with the people they met. But was that really the case? That if you talked constantly without seeing each other in person, there wouldn't be any sort of connection forged? He was inclined to disagree…
His hands hovered over the keyboard.
are you a nation
What? His mind began to race. So…so…was this mystery person a nation like himself? He let out a shaky laugh. So he wasn't the only one. He wasn't the only who wanted to break free from all their restrictions. Was that what this meant? He hoped it was. His body moved on its own. 'Yes,' he said. 'I am New Greece. You are?'
There was a tense pause.
herakles san
Herakles froze. (Could it be? Could it be? This was too much of a coincidence!) He almost heard his name, instead of seeing it on screen, spoken in a low voice, gentle with question at the end.
ah
probably
Only one person talked to him like that. And that person came with fleeting bouts of happiness, rivers in the desert, quiet hands and the clean smell of unpolished rice. The one person who absolutely baffled him. And may his mother's gods strike if he still couldn't remember his name and say it like he used to. They had taken a long time before they called each other by their names.
'Kiku. Japan.'
yes
hello
And just as some mysterious mix of dread, desire, longing, guilt and confusion pooled in his belly, Corporal Cat came in through the back door.
"What are you doing?" she deadpanned when she saw Herakles in a most ridiculous, back-breaking pose of shielding his computer, like a kid caught red-handed.
"Corporal, " he began warily. " I know you keep secrets for me, but swear you'll guard this one with your life."
At first she wanted to scold him, bat his head with her large paw and step on his tail, demanding why she should keep any secret of his at all. But at his tone and the plea in his eyes, Corporal simply nodded and nudged the door shut.
to chapter three