[APH] Falling Without Knowing (five)
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: A huge thank you to chromatic_coma for the beta! ♥♥♥
one | two | three | four | FIVE | six
In this installment: Therein lies these dreams, engraved in our hearts. Dreams that neither floods nor earth-shaking and fires can displace. Buried, yes, but never gone.
Whatever happens now that I've changed
No one will ever stand in our way
We both sent the signal, it's been delivered
A crashing cymbal rings out
"Can I wish for 'Die Turkey' now?"
"No you may not."
"Don't look. My…my hair gets messy in the rain."
"A…ah. But I don't see the difference."
Herakles has his chin on his palm as he gazes fondly at his computer screen. He'd like to think Japan is laughing at the other end while they reminisce like an old married couple of how awkward they were when they first met.
does your hair still curl in the rain?
'I imagine it would if we had rain here.'
i see
there is indeed much to get used to in living out here
'There is,' he types and his heart warms with joy and melancholy at Japan's reply.
say we were at a shrine right now
what would you wish for
'To sit beside you and watch the world turn.'
'To hold your hand.'
i
i would grant that right away
The rumble and wheeze of hangar doors woke Herakles with a start. His head hit the top of the egg-shaped vessel and he swore in pain. There was a series of uncomfortable bumping and jostling as he travelled on what felt like a conveyor belt and figured he must have arrived at the Shangri La.
The vessel shuddered to a halt and hissed open. A helmet was immediately placed on his head to make him breathe easy and his hands were bound behind his back.
The walls of the Shangri La were hospital white and filled with angular grooves. Mysterious poppings and clickings came from behind these walls and as Herakles moved closer to curiously examine them, two large paddles shot from grooves that slid open and roughly led him along the narrow hallway. Five box-like security cameras erupted from groove in the ceiling and surrounded him.
"Nation #47. You will be tried at Chamber #2 for the violation of Code #616," a mechanical voice boomed from all around them in crisp English. "Do you understand?"
"Clearly," Herakles spat, breath fogging the helmet visor. "Or have you forgotten we spoke English back on Earth, when everyone could interact with each other?"
A painful shock of electricity made him cry out in anger and surprise. His bound hands smarted and stung.
"Kindly remain silent," boomed the mechanical voice.
The paddles retracted into the walls as they came before double steel doors. Herakles was about to make a run for it when the grooves on the floor made way for another set of binds that bodily steered him into the next room.
It was an immense room that eerily clicked and whirred like an abandoned space ship that ate its own space crew. Security camera feeds filled the high ceiling and just ahead were ten smaller rooms reminiscent of detainment cells. The walls were not lined as in the hallway, but instead stacked with strange, rectangular computers that each bore a Butterfly on its front. They loomed menacingly above Herakles.
This, he realized. This was what the heads of Project Satellite had become. The Council with the iron grip.
"Nation #47 to Chamber #2," boomed the mechanical voice. "Nation #57 to Chamber #3."
And another door opposite Herakles' hissed open. Past the panic and indignation singing in his head, Herakles heard pleas, broken pleas, in a language he didn't understand.
"いやああああああああああああああ!" cried the small being that was steered in a mere twenty feet away from him. It struggled against its bonds like a wild animal and Herakles almost couldn't make out its shape if not for the same helmet being a black beacon against the frantically pulsing purple lights emitting from its body.
"いやあああ! 頼むよ!"
That voice, that piercing keen struck Herakles cold with fear. His heart began to throb painfully in his chest.
"Kiku?" his voice too broke with emotion. "KIKU!"
The struggling being turned to look at him. Its body tensed in recognition and glowed brighter than before. "へ-HERAKLES-SAN!"
A giant wall slammed in between them and electricity coursed through Herakles' frame, making him howl with pain. Beside him, a screech tore from Japan's throat and Herakles dropped to his knees, repeating Japan's name in desperate prayer.
He didn't notice as his bonds steered him into a tight chamber and that ten of the Council members had moved along the grooves on the floor to surrounded him.
"Make this quick #22."
"Very well. Nation #47!" boomed the mechanical voice. "Herakles Karpusi of New Greece will hereby be punished for the violation of Code #616, making direct contact without Council intervention. Here is your sentence."
All Herakles could think of was Kiku even as the memory extraction device was being wired to his helmet. Kiku and how he glowed lilac. Kiku and his dark, lonely planet. Kiku touching his curled hair under a rain soaked umbrella. Kiku who kissed him and held his hand. Kiku who laughed when the cats licked their faces. Kiku who blushed when he acted inappropriately. Kiku who played video games until well past midnight. Kiku who hacked computers because he didn't want to be alone anymore. Kiku who yelled out his name. Kiku who might not be able to understand a word of what the Council was telling him.
"Any emotional investments you have made toward Nation #57, Japan and New Japan, shall be transferred into Butterflies. These Butterflies shall promptly be destroyed after collection."
A familiar creeping sensation that slowly took over Herakles' body arrested the breath in his throat (In an adjacent chamber, Kiku's pleas escalated into frenzied yelling. No, no…)
No.
They were going to be erased…all of them.
All the fleeting moments of precious precious happiness that trickled through the earth and became a great river of uncontainable passion. The memories of Kiku's warmth, the feel of small calloused hands grasping his own, the scent of his hair, of chrysanthemums, unwashed rice and steel, the strength and wisdom in his voice, the soft of his cheeks and lips
(The memories of Herakles' heat, the feel of skin beneath his palms right over the reassuring beat of his heart, the kindness in his eyes, the gleam of mishchief and youth, his patience and the tang of his taste).
All the frustration and the warmth that spread across his shoulders when he read Kiku's messages on his computer (All the thrill and bittersweetness that flowered in his chest when he answered Herakles' replies). The calm and relief of realizing things had never changed between them and the overwhelming love.
Gone.
They were peeled away from Herakles in quiet layers
(They were peeled away from Kiku in quiet layers).
And unlike before, he did not relive them, but instead tried to cling to them for as long as he could, like a child holding water in his palms without knowing why, without knowing the water pushed past the seams of his cupped hands and escaped down his elbows.
(And unlike before, Kiku did not relive them, but instead stood helpless and in shock as he was slowly emptied. He watched them fall away with his eyes wide and overbright. They grew dull as tears slipped down his glowing cheeks, and very soon…)
Very soon, Herakles could not recall why he was crying so hard or why his chest was aching or why this raw grief was gnawing away inside him.
He didn't know. He couldn't remember.
He felt his mind and his heart crumble to pieces.
Like water, they were gone from his hands.
(In truth, the Council had never tried extracting emotions, only memories. They noted with surprise, as the lasers etched on fine metal wings, that color seeped into them. Lustrous pearl replaced the grey shine of metal alloy and a soft glow filled all the spaces of the frame. The Butterflies began fluttering about their glass globe like they were real.
When the extraction was over, they were released from their confines and flew out the open doors of Chambers #2 and #3, mingling and mixing like Monarchs preparing for a great migration.
"Should we contain them?" asked a Council member.
"Not to worry. They will all disintegrate as soon as they are exposed to air."
And true enough, within minutes, all the Butterflies collapsed in a glittering shower.)
(Back in New Greece, everyone on the planet paused from their preoccupations and turned their faces toward the red orange sky as if drawn by a unifying conscience. Something like a great sigh lifted from the earth and a strange sense of loss all settled in the air.
Across the shallow sea, Astraios set for the fourth time.
Across space-time, the planet of New Japan glowed softly in mourning.)
Herakles' neighbors had busied themselves with repairing his house. It was an amazing community effort. Erin!ŋao came down from the mountains to take care of Corporal Cat and clean up the destruction with considerable difficulty at first, but soon the New Greeks helped them, despite not being able to understand their language. For three days, they worked tirelessly on the house with confusion, anger and fear in their hearts for what could have happened to their beloved nation.
So when the Council's egg-shaped aircraft returned, dropping a dazed Herakles on a lovingly swept doorstep, Corporal came limping from the living room couch to escort him inside and seat him on it. Concern was written all over her features.
"Let this be a warning to everyone," boomed a mechanical voice from the aircraft. "…to all the nation-planets and their people of what will happen when Council rules are broken."
The message was cryptic, but soon news spread like wildfire-the nation-planet of New Greece had tried to make direct contact with another planet, placing both countries in serious jeopardy. As punishment, his memories had been erased. Or rather, whatever it was the Council did, it took the warmth from Herakles' eyes, the smile from his face, his voice from his throat and the energy from his body.
On the day of Herakles' return, after Corporal had seated him on the couch, he neither moved nor spoke. He only stared ahead unseeingly. He didn't hear Corporals words or the concerned questions of those who came to visit. He didn't feel the couch sink under the weight of her frantic pacing on its cushions nor the shakes or taps on his shoulder. He kept awake and starved like a broken man who had retreated into himself, leaving behind a pitiful shell.
There was no shortage of critics for Herakles' negligent behavior, but there were also those who backed up his reasons. 'We're all human,' they said. Nevertheless, the city mayors took turns in running the planet for a few weeks, amazed at the dedication involved in maintaining the peace and order. Concerned New Greeks paid a visit to the capital to bring Herakles food and wish him well.
Corpora Cat nodded to all of them in thanks, wondering how on earth could she tell them the way to bring Herakles back was to make him feel what it is to love and be loved again.
And then one day, the owner of the Santorini City Botanical Gardens came over with a tray of potted white flowers the erin!ŋao had never seen before. He placed them on a sunny windowsill, saying,
"Sir Karpusi, we've successfully grown the chrysanthemums you've been working so hard to find the perfect strain for. They're surprisingly easy to take care of despite our climate. These will fully bloom in a month. I'd ask you to water them regularly but-"
Corporal Cat had made a strangled sound and the owner turned, following the direction of her surprised look. Herakles sat on the couch staring straight at him like a quiet child who had just woken up from a long, feverish sleep. The man touched placed his hand on his heart in his own surprise but soon smiled and took one flower pot from the tray.
He placed it in his nation's hands. "They truly are beautiful, sir."
Words failed them, however, when tears began rolling down Herakles' cheeks and he continued to stare at the white bloom, its petals yet to open and stretch like an upturned palm, reaching out to wipe the wetness from his eyes.
It was months before Herakles began speaking again and even longer before there was a semblance of a genuine smile on his face.
Corporal Cat stood by him and watched with an easing heart as he resumed his duties as a nation with renewed purpose, whatever that was. He no longer puzzled over the memories of his Butterflies and merely accepted them as they were. He no longer mapped the stars and his previous drawings had been erased from his computer. His dealings with his fellow nations were business-like and short.
He was spending more time outdoors, lining his garden and his walls with rows and rows of white chrysanthemums.
"I don't know why I need this many," Herakles told her one morning as she joined him in admiring his handiwork. "But seeing them gives me comfort."
"Then that's all the reason you need," Corporal replied.
Together, they watched Astraios rise, scattering the dawn atmosphere orange, heralding a new day.
to chapter six
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: A huge thank you to chromatic_coma for the beta! ♥♥♥
one | two | three | four | FIVE | six
In this installment: Therein lies these dreams, engraved in our hearts. Dreams that neither floods nor earth-shaking and fires can displace. Buried, yes, but never gone.
Whatever happens now that I've changed
No one will ever stand in our way
We both sent the signal, it's been delivered
A crashing cymbal rings out
"Can I wish for 'Die Turkey' now?"
"No you may not."
"Don't look. My…my hair gets messy in the rain."
"A…ah. But I don't see the difference."
Herakles has his chin on his palm as he gazes fondly at his computer screen. He'd like to think Japan is laughing at the other end while they reminisce like an old married couple of how awkward they were when they first met.
does your hair still curl in the rain?
'I imagine it would if we had rain here.'
i see
there is indeed much to get used to in living out here
'There is,' he types and his heart warms with joy and melancholy at Japan's reply.
say we were at a shrine right now
what would you wish for
'To sit beside you and watch the world turn.'
'To hold your hand.'
i
i would grant that right away
The rumble and wheeze of hangar doors woke Herakles with a start. His head hit the top of the egg-shaped vessel and he swore in pain. There was a series of uncomfortable bumping and jostling as he travelled on what felt like a conveyor belt and figured he must have arrived at the Shangri La.
The vessel shuddered to a halt and hissed open. A helmet was immediately placed on his head to make him breathe easy and his hands were bound behind his back.
The walls of the Shangri La were hospital white and filled with angular grooves. Mysterious poppings and clickings came from behind these walls and as Herakles moved closer to curiously examine them, two large paddles shot from grooves that slid open and roughly led him along the narrow hallway. Five box-like security cameras erupted from groove in the ceiling and surrounded him.
"Nation #47. You will be tried at Chamber #2 for the violation of Code #616," a mechanical voice boomed from all around them in crisp English. "Do you understand?"
"Clearly," Herakles spat, breath fogging the helmet visor. "Or have you forgotten we spoke English back on Earth, when everyone could interact with each other?"
A painful shock of electricity made him cry out in anger and surprise. His bound hands smarted and stung.
"Kindly remain silent," boomed the mechanical voice.
The paddles retracted into the walls as they came before double steel doors. Herakles was about to make a run for it when the grooves on the floor made way for another set of binds that bodily steered him into the next room.
It was an immense room that eerily clicked and whirred like an abandoned space ship that ate its own space crew. Security camera feeds filled the high ceiling and just ahead were ten smaller rooms reminiscent of detainment cells. The walls were not lined as in the hallway, but instead stacked with strange, rectangular computers that each bore a Butterfly on its front. They loomed menacingly above Herakles.
This, he realized. This was what the heads of Project Satellite had become. The Council with the iron grip.
"Nation #47 to Chamber #2," boomed the mechanical voice. "Nation #57 to Chamber #3."
And another door opposite Herakles' hissed open. Past the panic and indignation singing in his head, Herakles heard pleas, broken pleas, in a language he didn't understand.
"いやああああああああああああああ!" cried the small being that was steered in a mere twenty feet away from him. It struggled against its bonds like a wild animal and Herakles almost couldn't make out its shape if not for the same helmet being a black beacon against the frantically pulsing purple lights emitting from its body.
"いやあああ! 頼むよ!"
That voice, that piercing keen struck Herakles cold with fear. His heart began to throb painfully in his chest.
"Kiku?" his voice too broke with emotion. "KIKU!"
The struggling being turned to look at him. Its body tensed in recognition and glowed brighter than before. "へ-HERAKLES-SAN!"
A giant wall slammed in between them and electricity coursed through Herakles' frame, making him howl with pain. Beside him, a screech tore from Japan's throat and Herakles dropped to his knees, repeating Japan's name in desperate prayer.
He didn't notice as his bonds steered him into a tight chamber and that ten of the Council members had moved along the grooves on the floor to surrounded him.
"Make this quick #22."
"Very well. Nation #47!" boomed the mechanical voice. "Herakles Karpusi of New Greece will hereby be punished for the violation of Code #616, making direct contact without Council intervention. Here is your sentence."
All Herakles could think of was Kiku even as the memory extraction device was being wired to his helmet. Kiku and how he glowed lilac. Kiku and his dark, lonely planet. Kiku touching his curled hair under a rain soaked umbrella. Kiku who kissed him and held his hand. Kiku who laughed when the cats licked their faces. Kiku who blushed when he acted inappropriately. Kiku who played video games until well past midnight. Kiku who hacked computers because he didn't want to be alone anymore. Kiku who yelled out his name. Kiku who might not be able to understand a word of what the Council was telling him.
"Any emotional investments you have made toward Nation #57, Japan and New Japan, shall be transferred into Butterflies. These Butterflies shall promptly be destroyed after collection."
A familiar creeping sensation that slowly took over Herakles' body arrested the breath in his throat (In an adjacent chamber, Kiku's pleas escalated into frenzied yelling. No, no…)
No.
They were going to be erased…all of them.
All the fleeting moments of precious precious happiness that trickled through the earth and became a great river of uncontainable passion. The memories of Kiku's warmth, the feel of small calloused hands grasping his own, the scent of his hair, of chrysanthemums, unwashed rice and steel, the strength and wisdom in his voice, the soft of his cheeks and lips
(The memories of Herakles' heat, the feel of skin beneath his palms right over the reassuring beat of his heart, the kindness in his eyes, the gleam of mishchief and youth, his patience and the tang of his taste).
All the frustration and the warmth that spread across his shoulders when he read Kiku's messages on his computer (All the thrill and bittersweetness that flowered in his chest when he answered Herakles' replies). The calm and relief of realizing things had never changed between them and the overwhelming love.
Gone.
They were peeled away from Herakles in quiet layers
(They were peeled away from Kiku in quiet layers).
And unlike before, he did not relive them, but instead tried to cling to them for as long as he could, like a child holding water in his palms without knowing why, without knowing the water pushed past the seams of his cupped hands and escaped down his elbows.
(And unlike before, Kiku did not relive them, but instead stood helpless and in shock as he was slowly emptied. He watched them fall away with his eyes wide and overbright. They grew dull as tears slipped down his glowing cheeks, and very soon…)
Very soon, Herakles could not recall why he was crying so hard or why his chest was aching or why this raw grief was gnawing away inside him.
He didn't know. He couldn't remember.
He felt his mind and his heart crumble to pieces.
Like water, they were gone from his hands.
(In truth, the Council had never tried extracting emotions, only memories. They noted with surprise, as the lasers etched on fine metal wings, that color seeped into them. Lustrous pearl replaced the grey shine of metal alloy and a soft glow filled all the spaces of the frame. The Butterflies began fluttering about their glass globe like they were real.
When the extraction was over, they were released from their confines and flew out the open doors of Chambers #2 and #3, mingling and mixing like Monarchs preparing for a great migration.
"Should we contain them?" asked a Council member.
"Not to worry. They will all disintegrate as soon as they are exposed to air."
And true enough, within minutes, all the Butterflies collapsed in a glittering shower.)
(Back in New Greece, everyone on the planet paused from their preoccupations and turned their faces toward the red orange sky as if drawn by a unifying conscience. Something like a great sigh lifted from the earth and a strange sense of loss all settled in the air.
Across the shallow sea, Astraios set for the fourth time.
Across space-time, the planet of New Japan glowed softly in mourning.)
Herakles' neighbors had busied themselves with repairing his house. It was an amazing community effort. Erin!ŋao came down from the mountains to take care of Corporal Cat and clean up the destruction with considerable difficulty at first, but soon the New Greeks helped them, despite not being able to understand their language. For three days, they worked tirelessly on the house with confusion, anger and fear in their hearts for what could have happened to their beloved nation.
So when the Council's egg-shaped aircraft returned, dropping a dazed Herakles on a lovingly swept doorstep, Corporal came limping from the living room couch to escort him inside and seat him on it. Concern was written all over her features.
"Let this be a warning to everyone," boomed a mechanical voice from the aircraft. "…to all the nation-planets and their people of what will happen when Council rules are broken."
The message was cryptic, but soon news spread like wildfire-the nation-planet of New Greece had tried to make direct contact with another planet, placing both countries in serious jeopardy. As punishment, his memories had been erased. Or rather, whatever it was the Council did, it took the warmth from Herakles' eyes, the smile from his face, his voice from his throat and the energy from his body.
On the day of Herakles' return, after Corporal had seated him on the couch, he neither moved nor spoke. He only stared ahead unseeingly. He didn't hear Corporals words or the concerned questions of those who came to visit. He didn't feel the couch sink under the weight of her frantic pacing on its cushions nor the shakes or taps on his shoulder. He kept awake and starved like a broken man who had retreated into himself, leaving behind a pitiful shell.
There was no shortage of critics for Herakles' negligent behavior, but there were also those who backed up his reasons. 'We're all human,' they said. Nevertheless, the city mayors took turns in running the planet for a few weeks, amazed at the dedication involved in maintaining the peace and order. Concerned New Greeks paid a visit to the capital to bring Herakles food and wish him well.
Corpora Cat nodded to all of them in thanks, wondering how on earth could she tell them the way to bring Herakles back was to make him feel what it is to love and be loved again.
And then one day, the owner of the Santorini City Botanical Gardens came over with a tray of potted white flowers the erin!ŋao had never seen before. He placed them on a sunny windowsill, saying,
"Sir Karpusi, we've successfully grown the chrysanthemums you've been working so hard to find the perfect strain for. They're surprisingly easy to take care of despite our climate. These will fully bloom in a month. I'd ask you to water them regularly but-"
Corporal Cat had made a strangled sound and the owner turned, following the direction of her surprised look. Herakles sat on the couch staring straight at him like a quiet child who had just woken up from a long, feverish sleep. The man touched placed his hand on his heart in his own surprise but soon smiled and took one flower pot from the tray.
He placed it in his nation's hands. "They truly are beautiful, sir."
Words failed them, however, when tears began rolling down Herakles' cheeks and he continued to stare at the white bloom, its petals yet to open and stretch like an upturned palm, reaching out to wipe the wetness from his eyes.
It was months before Herakles began speaking again and even longer before there was a semblance of a genuine smile on his face.
Corporal Cat stood by him and watched with an easing heart as he resumed his duties as a nation with renewed purpose, whatever that was. He no longer puzzled over the memories of his Butterflies and merely accepted them as they were. He no longer mapped the stars and his previous drawings had been erased from his computer. His dealings with his fellow nations were business-like and short.
He was spending more time outdoors, lining his garden and his walls with rows and rows of white chrysanthemums.
"I don't know why I need this many," Herakles told her one morning as she joined him in admiring his handiwork. "But seeing them gives me comfort."
"Then that's all the reason you need," Corporal replied.
Together, they watched Astraios rise, scattering the dawn atmosphere orange, heralding a new day.
to chapter six