Fic: Like Cobwebs, Part One (Hetalia, Poland/Lithuania)
Title: Like Cobwebs
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: non-descriptive references to body wastes
Summary: Lithuania wakes up four hundred years in the future.
Notes: This was inspired by a prompt on the kink meme, asking for mediaeval Lithuania in the modern world. (Sadly I forgot to bookmark the prompt). Many thanks to puddingcat for beta-reading! The fic is posted in three parts as the posting size limits on LJ made it difficult to divide up in another way. The title is taken from a quote from George Eliot's novel, Romola: Vague memories hang about the mind like cobwebs.
Other notes, historical and Hetalia, are at the end of part three of the fic.
Like Cobwebs
Lithuania put a hand over his eyes, wincing at the bright morning light. His head pounded, a sickening rhythm that made him want to do nothing but burrow beneath the blankets for the rest of the day. He groaned and pulled them up about his ears. The wine last night must have been bad, he thought weakly. He'd just sleep a while longer, and then have something light to settle his stomach.
"Poland," he said in a thin, sick voice. "Tell the servants I'll want plain bread and broth in an hour."
There was no answer. Lithuania groaned in misery and opened his eyes. Maybe Poland was ill as well. He squinted up at the canopy of the bed, and after a moment, frowned. He could see the ceiling, but it wasn't his ceiling. No beams were visible, just a flat white plastered surface. He sat up slowly, the room swimming in his vision. There were no corner-posts on the bed, and it was smaller than it should be. Clearly he was the only occupant and no one else had slept in it during the night.
"Poland?" he said, looking about him in confusion. This wasn't their room - it was too small, with plain painted walls and one oddly large window. "What -" he muttered, shoving back the blankets. They weren't blankets, he realised, but a strangely light, warm quilt. He clambered out of bed, staggering as he misjudged its low height from the floor. His feet touched carpet, and he saw that it extended over the entire floor. He stood in the centre of the floor, staring round him at the strange chamber with its furniture that wasn't his. It was all wrong and yet - and yet it felt like his house. No nation could ever mistake the feel of their own house. He took the few steps that were all he needed to reach the window and stood there, more bemused than ever. The glass was in one large pane with no leading at all. He looked out, wincing again at the sunlight. It was his territory, he knew at once - and it was wrong. He felt alone, no trace of Poland at all, and his skin felt tight and itchy. Turning around too quickly he knew he was going to throw up. There was no chamber pot anywhere in sight; he grabbed a box and emptied the contents out, sending shoes bouncing across the floor. Afterwards he was left feeling drained and a little shamed. The box was skillfully made of thick, stiff paper and was now ruined. He put it gingerly upon the floor and went to the door, his head still aching but feeling at least that he had no more to vomit.
"Hello?" he called. "Poland?" There was still no answer. Well, he needed someone to clean up the room and to give him something to eat to settle his stomach. "Ukraine? Belarus?" He opened a door to find another bedchamber, and another to reveal a white enamelled tub and a white basin and - thing - made of some very fine pottery. He looked into the inexplicable object seeing clear water pooled in the bottom and carefully closed its double lid. Thick cloths hung on a rail, the only spot of colour in the stark white room. Towels, he thought, looking back at the tub. It was very large, and he found it difficult to imagine the amount of water needed to fill it. No one in the kitchens would be able to do anything all day except heat water for his bath. It must have been Poland's idea, he decided.
The final door showed him a smaller room with a plain table and a single chair, a glass-fronted box sitting on the table. It was all quite plainly coloured but for the portrait hanging on the wall. He had never seen such fine work, he thought, peering closely at the image of himself and Poland. He could see no brush marks at all, and was taken aback at the sharp truthfulness of the likenesses, though he was embarrassed by the conduct of Poland and himself that was depicted. Why they had offered the artist such an insult as to be grinning widely he couldn't imagine. And what were they wearing? They were practically naked, wearing short breeches and flimsy-looking short tunics with sleeves that didn't even reach the elbow. The beach on which they stood didn't look as if it were at either the Baltic or the Black Sea. They weren't even wearing shoes, their toes curled into the sand like little children. He turned away to have his eye drawn to the shelves packed with - With books, he thought, and sat down hard on the chair. How had they grown so immensely rich? There were more books on the shelves than he had seen even in the studies of the most learned men in universities. They were cheaper now than when they had to be written by hand but to have so many - He pulled some off the shelf and looked at the thick paper covering them, the brightly coloured pictures and strong black print. How strange, he thought, opening them and reading. They're in Lithuanian. All of them. He opened one after another, finding tales of people's everyday lives and travels, all seeming nonsensical. The words looked odd as he sounded them out carefully, unused to seeing his people's language in print. He felt both vaguely proud to read such a torrent of words printed in Lithuanian, and obscurely embarrassed, as if it made the words too sharp. It was humbling to discover he couldn't read his own people's language as quickly as he could that of Poland's people. Maybe if Poland had ever shown an interest in his language, he thought, and then caught the annoyance before it could blossom. He didn't want to be irritated with Poland, he wanted to find him and make sure he was all right. Anyway Poland would roll his eyes at the thought of so many books in Lithuanian, he thought, and give him more familiar ones in Polish and Latin.
He put the books back and went back to his chamber. He couldn't go searching any further while naked; he would dress and then find everyone. A little investigation rewarded him with plenty of clothes in the tall cabinet, none of them his. They were somehow outlandishly showy and like the clothing of the drabbest peasant at the same time. There were no pairs of hose or proper shirts, and no doublets at all. He pulled on a pair of dark green breeches and, after experimenting, managed to close the peculiar fastening. It had little teeth that joined together when he pulled on a small metal attachment. It was very clever, he thought, and he could not figure out how it worked no matter how often he opened and closed it. A shirt of unfamiliar design went on next. The material and stitching were very fine, the stitches so small as to be almost invisible. He found no stockings, so put on a pair of the ugly shoes on his his bare feet, tying the laces tight. Everything fitted perfectly, which made him feel more and more confused. The comb and hairbrush on the little table by the bed had strands of long brown hair in them, the exact colour of his own; he brushed his hair and searched round for a ribbon. Finding none he left his hair loose and ran down the stairs, looking in every room, seeing unfamiliar furniture, the too-big windows and things he had no names for. In one room he paused, seeing something he at last understood. A loaf of bread stood on a table, wrapped in a clear material that crinkled when he touched it. Suddenly ravenous, he searched for a knife, discarding several with rounded blunt blades, and cut himself a piece, opening cupboards as he chewed. Platters and cups of thin, fine pottery, glass jars with pieces of paper on them with pictures of fruit, metal containers with paper adorning them too. How anyone could feed a household from such a small kitchen was beyond him.
"Strawberry preserve," he read out. He stood there, the jar in one hand, casting his eyes up in frustration. "Why would anyone waste paper on something like that?" he asked the empty room. He peered at the jar again, wondering why anyone would print such a thing, or why it was necessary to note the ingredients. He found a half-empty jar and spread the preserve on another slice of bread, opening a large white cupboard to discover it was cold and bright inside, and filled with other containers. He shook his head in disbelief at the box labelled "milk" and felt better at the sight of some completely comprehensible cheese. Some bottles on a shelf were labelled "beer" and he took one out. It took some effort to prise the top off with his knife, but finally he sat at the table and had a breakfast that was at least somewhat satisfying, even if the beer was stronger than he usually liked in the morning. After, he went outside and walked through the garden, which was smaller than it should be and not the neat, well-tended park he had walked in only the previous day. There was no orchard, no vegetable garden and the only fruits he saw were some large, dangerous-looking red berries on plants growing in a sunny spot against the house wall. He was totally alone, that was obvious, in a house that felt like his but was far too small and not right in any way.
He was left with two immediate problems - it seemed he would have to clean his bedchamber himself, and he had a growing need to relieve himself. He reluctantly went upstairs and carefully brought down the stinking box. He had seen no chamber pot in any of the rooms, nor a midden outside, which would have solved both his problems. Finally he left the box in a distant part of the garden and relieved himself against a tree. I should go into Vilnius, he thought, and immediately found himself shrinking from the thought. His heart was beating far too fast, leaving him a little light-headed. He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling breathless, his pulse racing far faster than it should. Something was wrong with Vilnius, he thought as his heart raced uncomfortably and he could take no more oddness just at that moment. I should find Poland, he thought, and felt more relieved. If he's not with me he must be with the king. If he weren't alone he'd feel much better. He looked about him once more, in the hope that the stable yard would suddenly reappear and he could ride, then he resignedly looked at the sun and started walking in the right direction.
* * *
He knew immediately when he had stepped from his lands to Poland's. It was shameful, he thought, how his eyes threatened to well up, as if he hadn't let himself think how alone he had been till he felt Poland's presence once more. He bent down to caress the earth. "Oh, Polska, what's happening?" he said, then called out, "Poland! Polska!" In the distance he saw a small house with a neat garden. The door opened, and a familiar head popped out. Poland looked round as if he'd heard someone calling, then went back inside. Lithuania felt his spirits lift and he ran down towards the house. When he reached it he pushed down the odd feeling at having to knock, and hammered on the door.
"Hold on! Sheesh, I'm coming, I'm coming," he heard, and then Poland opened the door himself. "Whoa, Liet," he said. "Were you just calling me? I rang but there was, like, no answer." He waved a small object at Lithuania in a way that seemed meant to convey some meaning. "Uhh, hi," he said as Lithuania flung his arms round him.
"My house is all wrong and no one's there, and you have a different house, and the garden's wrong and the stables have gone and where is everyone and it's far too small and why do you have a separate house?" Lithuania said.
"Um," Poland said, patting his back. "Huh? Liet? I didn't catch most of that." He pulled back a little to peer into Lithuania's face. "Dude, have you been drinking?"
"Only beer," Lithuania said."It's still morning." Poland was dressed in the same sort of clothes he had found in his chamber, and he sounded a little odd. "Why are you talking like that?"
Poland raised an eyebrow. "I'm not the one who's theeing and thouing. And, Liet, I know you're not a dedicated follower of fashion, but did you, like, get dressed in the dark or something?"
"No, it was quite light," Lithuania said. "Why are you keeping me on the doorstep?"
"I'm not," Poland said. He looked more closely at him and frowned. "You're totally in a tizz. Come on, in you come." He took Lithuania's arm and pulled him inside. "What's up?"
Lithuania looked round at the hallway. Poland's house was as wrong as his own; the hallway was too small, there weren't enough doors leading off it, and it was painted in peculiar colours. It was obviously a different house, and all Poland's - it should feel like it was his too, and it just didn't. "Poland," he said, "something's wrong. I woke up feeling so sick - is there a war? Why are our houses separate? Where are all the people in our household gone? If someone's trying to drive us apart why aren't you with the armies?" He looked round the unfamiliar hallway, feeling more and more panicked. "I can't even remember who's king," he said. "Who's our king right now? Why has he let this happen to us? Why does the Commonwealth feel so wrong?"
" - What?" Poland said. "Liet, I think maybe we'd better sit down." He took Lithuania's arm and led him into the kitchen, pushing him gently down onto a chair. "Have you had anything to eat?"
"Some bread and cheese, some beer and preserved fruit," Lithuania said. "Hardly anything. Why are we in the kitchen? Can't we sit in the sitting room?"
"If you want," Poland said. "I was going to get you some food, make you something to drink."
"You were going to get my food," Lithuania said blankly. Poland never did that kind of thing, he waited and had his dinner served to him. "Are the others not here?"
"The others?"
"Ukraine, Belarus, Estonia, Latvia, Moldavia -" Lithuania started, feeling with dread that he already knew the answer. Poland was looking at him very strangely.
"No, Liet," he said. "They're not here. They have their own houses."
"They rebelled?" Lithuania said in mixed horror and anger. "What, even Latvia?"
"No - well, yes, some of them, but not Latvia," Poland said.
"But who does the laundry?" Lithuania said in bewilderment. The idea of Poland scrubbing his own stockings was too bizarre to be considered. "Who mucks out your stables? There is someone here instead? There has to be!"
"Liet, you're talking, like, total nonsense. No, no, wait-" Poland pushed Lithuania back down into the chair. "Liet, stop, you're totally upset, what's going on?"
"Please, tell me," Lithuania said. "I'm telling you, I woke up and the world has gone mad." Poland was so stand-offish, he thought in unhappiness. He hadn't even offered the most formal of kisses. "Polska, please tell me -" he said, pleading.
"OK," Poland said, with a grin. "I'll go with it; you woke up and you thought we still had the Commonwealth. Have you, like, been drinking that stuff Estonia makes in his shed again?"
"What's wrong with the Commonwealth?" Lithuania whispered. "What do you mean I think we still have it?"
Poland stared into his face, the smile fading. "What's the date, Liet?"
"It's two days to the Nativity of John the Baptist," Lithuania said.
". . . OK, but what's the year?"
"The year? It's the year of Our Lord 1575, of course."
Poland gave a little laugh, and at once bit his lip. "No. It's 2009. Here, look -" He picked up a thick folded mass of printed paper, pointing to a line at the top. 9th July, 2009, it read. Lithuania shook his head.
"I don't understand, why are you joking? Yesterday we heard Mass, we went riding, we came home - to our house, our real house - we had lunch, we played chess and you cheated, and when it was evening we played music and had dinner, served by Ukraine, and then we went to bed." Believe me, he thought, you're the one who makes up wild things, not me. "And when I woke this morning I was sick, and you weren't there, no one was there and everything was wrong, Poland. Everything!"
"Dude, you went home two days ago, you said you had, like, a mountain of work. You rang last night for a chat, around about ten o'clock. And since when do I cheat at chess?"
Lithuania folded his arms. "I wasn't talking to anyone at such a late hour. We went to bed at the usual time, we lay together in love, we fell asleep - what?" Poland was looking at him even more oddly.
"Nothing," Poland said. "You're not usually so blasé about, you know -" He reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind Lithuania's ear. "Tell me you're kidding, Liet."
"I'm not, I swear," Lithuania said, taking his hand. "Help me make things go back to the way they should."
"Liet-" Poland said. He took a deep breath. "I'm not kidding either. It's over four hundred years later than you think it is." He pursed his lips, putting on what Lithuania had always thought of as his thinking face. "We look much the same, so that's no use. Let's see - Come with me." He pulled Lithuania out of the chair and out of the kitchen, up the stairs and into a bedchamber. Lithuania blinked at the pink ruffled pillows and the bright embroidered quilt. Clearly this was Poland's private room. "Take your shirt off," Poland said. "Here, let me help -" He started unbuttoning the shirt. "Sheesh, you had it buttoned wrong." He pulled it off and spun Lithuania round scrutinising him. "Yeah, you're, like, not a time traveller anyway."
"A what?" Lithuania said.
"Doesn't matter. Look -"
Lithuania found himself positioned in front of a long mirror set into a cabinet door. It was as clear and bright as the mirror he had found in his own house. Poland turned him so he had to look over his shoulder. He took a sharp intake of breath at the sight of the silvery scars crisscrossing his back, feeling his face go slack with surprise. He reached back to put a hand between his shoulder blades, feeling how one patch of skin felt peculiarly numb. In the mirror Poland's eyes went wide and round.
"Shit! Shit, Liet, you're serious - you didn't know they were there." He pulled Lithuania round so he couldn't see the mirror. "Don't look, it's freaking you out."
"Tell me," Lithuania said. Now that he had seen the scars he found he couldn't help but concentrate on how the numb patch felt. "You tell me now, Poland, what's going on. Why have our household gone and why weren't you there this morning?"
"Things have changed," Poland said. "The household, um. I guess we're all happier to be in our own houses right now - we all had to live in the same house for a while, someone else's house, and it totally sucked. We're not - I mean, you totally stay here most of the time, but we have separate houses and we're, like - separate."
"What?" Lithuania said, his misery and horror deepening. "Have we quarrelled? What did we fight about?"
"No," Poland said. "Well, not all that recently - wait, you're going to have to look at the scars again -" He turned Lithuania round to the mirror again, tracing a finger down the long scar that looped under his right arm and down his side. "This one," he said, and pulled off his own shirt, pointing to his own left shoulder where a wide scar came across the point and across his ribs, and to another lower down on the same side. "Put your arms round me," he said, and pulled Lithuania close. "Look."
Lithuania looked at their reflection, seeing how the scars matched up, starting on Poland's shoulder, coming down to run down his side, and crossing back over to Poland, ending in a trail over his kidney. "Polska -" he said. "What in the name of God happened?"
"They tore us apart," Poland said, stepping back. "Russia took you away, and wasn't a good guy about it. And then me -" he indicated fainter lines running across his body. "They cut me up." He shrugged. "I got better. Mostly. It wasn't, like, yesterday."
Lithuania stepped against him again, looking at the reflection in sick fascination. He'd lost his real house, his household and Poland too. It was easier to focus on Poland's injuries than on the rising despair. "Who hurt you?" he said, cupping a hand over the lower portion of the shared scar on Poland's side. It was slightly raised and felt strange to the touch. Poland shivered a little as he traced it, then held himself still. "Was it Russia?"
"Doesn't matter any more," Poland said.
"Who?"
Poland looked at him very straight. "Prussia, Russia and Austria," he said, then grinned. "Prussia got himself dissolved sixty years ago, Austria doesn't do much of anything any more - Russia got bigger and meaner than anyone expected, but two out of three totally isn't all that bad." He draped the shirt round Lithuania's shoulders. "Let's go back downstairs and have our breakfast." He smiled as Lithuania held on. "I'm OK, you know me."
"I know you," Lithuania said. "You don't complain about the things that really hurt you." He tightened his arms. "I'm going to kill them." He'd start with Austria, he decided. Once he had the armies of the Holy Roman Empire under his control it wouldn't matter how big and mean Russia was. How could I have let this happen to you? he thought, and kissed Poland in silent apology. Poland took a sharp, squeaking breath, then for one brief moment he responded, tilting his head to make the angle better, his hand rising to cup the back of Lithuania's head, and then stepped back quickly, looking almost comically dismayed.
"I should put on a pot of coffee!" he said, overly cheerful. "You've totally forgotten coffee, right?" He grabbed up his shirt and practically ran down the stairs, leaving Lithuania to follow, wondering what had just happened.
Downstairs Poland bustled round the kitchen, staying just out of arm's reach. "These are bran flakes," he said. "Modern science shows we need more fibre, dude, and coniferous forests just don't cut it. And bread, and jam, and I know I have more cheese in here -" He started rummaging in a white cabinet like the cold one Lithuania had found in his own house. "Hey, would you like eggs? I can totally do you some eggs, and I have this cool smoked kiełbasa - here's the milk, and I'll put the coffee on -"
Lithuania managed to take his arm as he slipped past. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Poland said with a sunny smile. "Except for you, Liet - I'm just, like, worried what happened to you. Maybe you hit your head and it made you forget four hundred years of stuff. Does your head hurt?"
"It did, earlier," Lithuania said, and squeezed his arm. "You're upset."
"You just forgot four centuries and got a nasty shock with the scars," Poland said. "Just showing some natural concern, dude."
Lithuania let him go back to his foraging in cupboards. Poland's usual idea of showing concern was to laugh at problems till they gave up hope of being taken seriously and slunk away. It was almost as if he were embarrassed by something, which was as ridiculous as the idea of him cooking for himself. He smiled peaceably at him, and sat when urged to. Given enough time Poland would blurt out what was on his mind, and Lithuania could fix it for him. He started eating the food that was put in front of him, and grimaced at the bitter, black liquid poured into a cup.
"Don't you have any beer?" he asked.
"Beer," Poland repeated, and then beamed. "Hey, yeah! We totally used to drink beer at breakfast!" He took bottles from the white cupboard and poured Lithuania and himself glasses. "This'll help with dealing with the boss," he said happily, taking a drink. "Thinking back, how did we ever get anything done after breakfast?"
"This is stronger than we're used to in the morning," Lithuania reminded him. "Polska, are you sure it's not 1575?"
"Let me show you," Poland said, getting up. "No, you stay there, have something more to eat, I just have to find something." He left the kitchen, purpose in his face. Lithuania crumbled a piece of cheese between his fingers, thinking, I've lost my home, I'm sitting in Poland's too-small kitchens, and Poland seems to be used to doing his own chores. It was horribly strange.
"Here we are!" Poland sang out, coming back. He plopped a book on the table in front of Lithuania, and blinked as Lithuania scooped it up protectively.
"You can't just put a book down surrounded by food!" Lithuania said, horrified. "What if the butter gets on it?"
"Dude, who cares? If it gets too buttery I can always buy another one," Poland said, then, "Oh, right. Don't worry, they're like, a zillion times cheaper in real money than they used to be."
"Real money?" Lithuania said plaintively as Poland wrestled the book away from him. "What's unreal money?" Poland flipped through the pages, and waited for a space to be cleared on the table before he put it down again, open to brightly coloured pages.
"This is a historical atlas," he said. "This is us as you remember us, right?"
Lithuania wiped his hands and bent over the book, looking at himself and Poland, arms tight round in each other in a close embrace, then let his eyes focus differently so he could see the borders and territories. "Yes," he said, looking at the vast and spacious lands. "This is us."
"And -" Poland said, taking the book up again and flicking forward. He paused, looking at another page, a sour expression on his face. "Well, maybe not that one," he muttered and went to a page nearer to the end. "This is us now."
Lithuania looked at their borders, the thick black line separating him from Poland. He frowned at the sight of the neighbouring territories. "Can Latvia really manage his own house?" he said. "Or Belarus?"
Poland made a rude noise. "Oh, yeah, your eye goes right to Belarus, like that's a surprise." He grinned. "You used to totally check her out every time she bent over."
"I did not!" Lithuania said. Poland laughed at him again, which was so much better than the odd way he'd been acting before that Lithuania shrugged a little sheepishly. "Well, I only ever looked." He turned his attention back to the map, the feeling of loss and disorientation growing. "Our houses are so small," he said, "and this -" he traced a finger above the border. "Why do we allow it?"
Poland didn't answer for a moment, then, "You like your independence. Russia made you live in his house for ages and you, like, wanted your own place."
"I want to go home," Lithuania said, closing his eyes for a moment. "Not that little house, our home. You wanted to go hawking today, and I wanted to see you get all tangled up in the jesses as usual."
"Thanks," Poland said sarcastically. "I, like, never got tangled up."
"Always," Lithuania said, and closed the book. Poland was leaning forward, one hand on the table. He didn't look any older than Lithuania remembered, but the unfamiliar scars on both their bodies and all the strangeness in both their houses made him feel very far from home. "Let's knock down the fence between our houses."
Poland looked at him sidelong. "So if I said, Dude, let's totally get the Commonwealth going again -"
"Yes, of course."
Poland shook his head. "Ninety years, I wait for that, and it's way too late. Our people wouldn't go for it, Liet. Which sucks." He patted Lithuania's hand. "You wouldn't go for it either. Spilt milk, no crying. Let's just get you up to speed on the modern world before we go out later. We're supposed to be meeting people tonight, how about I be the one to choose your party clothes?"
"That's the same, at least," Lithuania said. "I'm not sure I want to meet anyone."
"You totally have to," Poland said. "We have trade meetings tomorrow and we need to be sociable tonight. It'll be people you know, Hungary and - OK, maybe some of them you won't know, but you have to be there. Just smile and let me do the talking. We don't need people asking why you're all, Forsooth, I know not what yon serf thinketh he be doing. Oh, by the way? No one's a serf any more."
"Is that why you do your own chores?"
Poland shrugged. "I guess. Come with me, I totally need to something about your clothes."
"Do you have proper clothes?" Lithuania asked, following him into the hall and back up the stairs.
"Duh. Unless you mean middle ages stuff." Poland looked over his shoulder, pursing his lips at Lithuania's incomprehension and added, " - Stuff you're used to wearing."
"Do you at least have a ribbon?" Lithuania sighed, brushing his hair back from his eyes.
There was a smile in Poland's voice as he replied. "I have ribbons. I'll pick you a pretty one." He opened the door to another bedchamber and beckoned Lithuania inside. "This is your room - do you remember anything now you see it?"
Lithuania shook his head, looking around. The bed was too small, the window too big - Poland did something to the wall and a bright light came on overhead. Lithuania stared at it, entranced, trying to see where the candle was.
"OK, clothes off," Poland said, opening a tall cupboard and revealing more unfamiliar clothes. "If you go out half dressed in uniform like that people will think you're making some sort of point."
Lithuania sighed and knelt to unlace the shoes, taking them off gratefully. He fumbled with the odd fastening of the breeches and pulled them down at last, looking up again to meet Poland's sceptical gaze.
" - Dude," Poland said, raising one eyebrow, "there's getting half-dressed and there's, like, getting half-dressed. I'd better find you some underwear as well." He rummaged in a drawer and tossed some skimpy and uncomfortable-looking things to Lithuania. "Here you go."
Lithuania turned them round and round till he was sure he had them right, and climbed into them. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and found he wanted to laugh, for the first time that day. "These are the most ridiculous things I've ever seen," he said. "It can't be good for the private parts to be so confined." He caught the next things Poland threw and looked at them quizzically.
"On your feet, dude!"
"People don't wear proper stockings any more?" Lithuania said, pulling them on. His reflection now looked more ridiculous than ever.
"I do, but you've always refused to let me put a garter belt on you. C'mere -" Poland unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off. "This is totally out of fashion, I don't know why you keep it. Put these on, I bought them for you so they actually look like clothes. You can put on something nicer when we go out." He helped Lithuania dress, humming happily. This hasn't changed, Lithuania thought with relief. Poland had always loved dressing them both up, spending a great deal of money and time making sure they were both what he deemed as presentable. He looked in the mirror when Poland was done and pretended he could see the difference. He supposed the breeches did sit better on him, and the shirt was soft and comfortable, but they still weren't what he was used to wearing. "A ribbon," Poland said. "Wait a mo -" He went into his own room and soon reappeared with a length of red velvet ribbon. "Sit down, I'll fix your hair." Lithuania obediently sat in front of the mirror and watched as Poland brushed his hair, his face intent as he pulled it back and tied the ribbon. "There," he said, and brushed one hand quickly over Lithuania's head. "It's been a long time since I did that."
"You did it yesterday," Lithuania said softly. Poland met his eyes in the glass, and his nostalgic little smile died away.
"Liet -" he said, his voice quiet. "Ah, never mind. It's OK."
It was too much to see Poland look sad when he should be laughing and carefree as usual. He never looked sad, not even when Lithuania was giving him a piece of his mind for being lazy and willing to let others do his work. Lithuania turned and took his hand. "I want something familiar," he said. "I'll listen to whatever you say, I'll believe you that it's four hundred years in the future, I'll be quiet and let you speak for me this evening, if you want that, but I want something familiar right now, something of home."
"More beer?"
"No," Lithuania said, standing, and put a hand on the side of his face and kissed him. "What?" he said in frustration as Poland drew back. "What is it?"
"Nothing," Poland said, and leant forward, a careful space between them, to press his lips courteously and passionlessly against his, as if he were returning a favour.
"Oh," Lithuania said, as hopeful realisation hit him, "did I embrace you too tightly before? Do your scars hurt? I'm sorry, Polska, I'll be more gentle -" He put his arms carefully round him, kissing him again, and feeling a knot grow in his stomach as it became clearer and clearer that Poland was merely allowing him to do so. "We have quarrelled," he said unhappily. Or, he thought in sorrow, Poland's enemies had hurt him in ways he didn't want to think about. "You're safe with me," he said. "I'd never hurt you. Polska - dearest, did someone - hurt you?"
"No - no, no, don't worry, it's just - dude, you know me, I'm selfish and tactless and like, take no one else into account, as this pal of mine from Lithuania frequently reminds me," Poland said ruefully, "and I don't want to upset you. You don't really want to kiss me, Liet."
"I want to do a lot more than kiss you," Lithuania said in relief, stroking his face. "I remember you as you were last night," he murmured in Poland's ear. "There was no hesitation then, except when you tried to hold back from coming to completion for just a little while longer." Poland went a bright and remarkable pink and Lithuania felt a helpless smile cross his face. "So lovely," he said, nuzzling into his hair.
"My God," Poland said. "God, Liet, you never talk like that."
"Yes I do."
"You don't!" Poland spluttered. " - Not for a long time."
"Why not?" Lithuania said, kissing his temple. "Have I become so old and staid that I no longer enjoy the act of love?" He laughed a little against Poland's skin. "Maybe you've become a monk and feel warm only in the company of young nuns? Polska, don't be silly, why are you embarrassed that I want you? You're my own -" he said, punctuating his words with little kisses, " - sweet - Polska." Poland was relaxing in his embrace, a look of yearning in his eyes. "Help me take off these ugly clothes you helped me put on," Lithuania said, sure of his victory.
" - We can't," Poland said, and began to slip free.
"God's wounds, you'd think I'd tried to bend you over the kitchen table and ravish you!" Lithuania cried in angry unhappiness.
Poland winced and stepped back, then started to laugh, patting at Lithuania's arm when he got more annoyed. "Liet, Liet," he wheezed, "d'you, like, remember Ukraine's face?"
Lithuania glared at him, then smiled, half-unwilling. "She swore she wouldn't cook one single more meal and she'd rebel right away unless we scoured the table ourselves," he said, "and then she made you wash the floor. I can still see you wrestling with that mop - I don't know if I'd ever seen you wetter except when you were swimming. And after all that she and Latvia chopped the table up anyway and we had to get a new one. I never understood how he didn't cut his own foot off, he's the clumsiest boy I've ever seen."
"Dude, I can still hear the horrified shrieks coming from the kitchens every day," Poland sniggered. "Latviaaaaaaaa!" He took a breath. "We fought," he said. "I tried to make you come back too soon and we fought and we went to war. I mean, we're friends again now, but, I guess I learnt my lesson for once about rushing things."
"We went to war," Lithuania repeated. "We went to war?"
"And then we didn't talk for years," Poland said. "It sucked."
"I don't know anything about that," Lithuania said, horrified at the idea. "I just know you're my dear partner - what did we fight about?"
"I, um," Poland said. "I sort of seized Vilnius."
"You wanted my heart?" Lithuania said, taking his hand and pressing it to his chest, feeling again the unfamiliar, fast rhythm. "Why didn't you just ask? Let me love you, Polska." With his other hand he tucked Poland's hair back behind his ears, stroking his fingers lightly over his face. The idea of Poland seizing Vilnius was ridiculous; all he remembered was them so recently becoming one nation, no matter what the evidence of his own, little house had told him earlier. "You know I can't refuse you anything."
"I've missed us; when I ask you to go to bed with me you say I have to wait just a bit longer. I mean, we're not, like, fighting and I think you want to, but it's just - I just don't want you to be upset," Poland said.
"I have no desire to wait," Lithuania said.
Poland stroked his hand over his chest, pressing down over his heart. "You still totally have my heart - do I have yours?"
"Always."
"Are you sure?" Poland said, sounding like someone holding back from a longed-for treat.
"I'll try to say it in your modern manner," Lithuania said, pulling him closer. "Like, totally."
The last traces of sadness slowly cleared from Poland's face and he smiled sunnily as he willingly came back into Lithuania's arms. "Hey, if I take you at your word, just promise you won't, like, slap me from one end of the house to the other afterwards," he said.
"Shhh," Lithuania said, and kissed him quiet.
They were faster at getting the clothes off again than Lithuania had been in putting them on, and he was pleased to find that the bed, although not as big as their real one, was soft and comfortable, and had more than enough space for both of them.
* * *
Part Two
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: non-descriptive references to body wastes
Summary: Lithuania wakes up four hundred years in the future.
Notes: This was inspired by a prompt on the kink meme, asking for mediaeval Lithuania in the modern world. (Sadly I forgot to bookmark the prompt). Many thanks to puddingcat for beta-reading! The fic is posted in three parts as the posting size limits on LJ made it difficult to divide up in another way. The title is taken from a quote from George Eliot's novel, Romola: Vague memories hang about the mind like cobwebs.
Other notes, historical and Hetalia, are at the end of part three of the fic.
Like Cobwebs
Lithuania put a hand over his eyes, wincing at the bright morning light. His head pounded, a sickening rhythm that made him want to do nothing but burrow beneath the blankets for the rest of the day. He groaned and pulled them up about his ears. The wine last night must have been bad, he thought weakly. He'd just sleep a while longer, and then have something light to settle his stomach.
"Poland," he said in a thin, sick voice. "Tell the servants I'll want plain bread and broth in an hour."
There was no answer. Lithuania groaned in misery and opened his eyes. Maybe Poland was ill as well. He squinted up at the canopy of the bed, and after a moment, frowned. He could see the ceiling, but it wasn't his ceiling. No beams were visible, just a flat white plastered surface. He sat up slowly, the room swimming in his vision. There were no corner-posts on the bed, and it was smaller than it should be. Clearly he was the only occupant and no one else had slept in it during the night.
"Poland?" he said, looking about him in confusion. This wasn't their room - it was too small, with plain painted walls and one oddly large window. "What -" he muttered, shoving back the blankets. They weren't blankets, he realised, but a strangely light, warm quilt. He clambered out of bed, staggering as he misjudged its low height from the floor. His feet touched carpet, and he saw that it extended over the entire floor. He stood in the centre of the floor, staring round him at the strange chamber with its furniture that wasn't his. It was all wrong and yet - and yet it felt like his house. No nation could ever mistake the feel of their own house. He took the few steps that were all he needed to reach the window and stood there, more bemused than ever. The glass was in one large pane with no leading at all. He looked out, wincing again at the sunlight. It was his territory, he knew at once - and it was wrong. He felt alone, no trace of Poland at all, and his skin felt tight and itchy. Turning around too quickly he knew he was going to throw up. There was no chamber pot anywhere in sight; he grabbed a box and emptied the contents out, sending shoes bouncing across the floor. Afterwards he was left feeling drained and a little shamed. The box was skillfully made of thick, stiff paper and was now ruined. He put it gingerly upon the floor and went to the door, his head still aching but feeling at least that he had no more to vomit.
"Hello?" he called. "Poland?" There was still no answer. Well, he needed someone to clean up the room and to give him something to eat to settle his stomach. "Ukraine? Belarus?" He opened a door to find another bedchamber, and another to reveal a white enamelled tub and a white basin and - thing - made of some very fine pottery. He looked into the inexplicable object seeing clear water pooled in the bottom and carefully closed its double lid. Thick cloths hung on a rail, the only spot of colour in the stark white room. Towels, he thought, looking back at the tub. It was very large, and he found it difficult to imagine the amount of water needed to fill it. No one in the kitchens would be able to do anything all day except heat water for his bath. It must have been Poland's idea, he decided.
The final door showed him a smaller room with a plain table and a single chair, a glass-fronted box sitting on the table. It was all quite plainly coloured but for the portrait hanging on the wall. He had never seen such fine work, he thought, peering closely at the image of himself and Poland. He could see no brush marks at all, and was taken aback at the sharp truthfulness of the likenesses, though he was embarrassed by the conduct of Poland and himself that was depicted. Why they had offered the artist such an insult as to be grinning widely he couldn't imagine. And what were they wearing? They were practically naked, wearing short breeches and flimsy-looking short tunics with sleeves that didn't even reach the elbow. The beach on which they stood didn't look as if it were at either the Baltic or the Black Sea. They weren't even wearing shoes, their toes curled into the sand like little children. He turned away to have his eye drawn to the shelves packed with - With books, he thought, and sat down hard on the chair. How had they grown so immensely rich? There were more books on the shelves than he had seen even in the studies of the most learned men in universities. They were cheaper now than when they had to be written by hand but to have so many - He pulled some off the shelf and looked at the thick paper covering them, the brightly coloured pictures and strong black print. How strange, he thought, opening them and reading. They're in Lithuanian. All of them. He opened one after another, finding tales of people's everyday lives and travels, all seeming nonsensical. The words looked odd as he sounded them out carefully, unused to seeing his people's language in print. He felt both vaguely proud to read such a torrent of words printed in Lithuanian, and obscurely embarrassed, as if it made the words too sharp. It was humbling to discover he couldn't read his own people's language as quickly as he could that of Poland's people. Maybe if Poland had ever shown an interest in his language, he thought, and then caught the annoyance before it could blossom. He didn't want to be irritated with Poland, he wanted to find him and make sure he was all right. Anyway Poland would roll his eyes at the thought of so many books in Lithuanian, he thought, and give him more familiar ones in Polish and Latin.
He put the books back and went back to his chamber. He couldn't go searching any further while naked; he would dress and then find everyone. A little investigation rewarded him with plenty of clothes in the tall cabinet, none of them his. They were somehow outlandishly showy and like the clothing of the drabbest peasant at the same time. There were no pairs of hose or proper shirts, and no doublets at all. He pulled on a pair of dark green breeches and, after experimenting, managed to close the peculiar fastening. It had little teeth that joined together when he pulled on a small metal attachment. It was very clever, he thought, and he could not figure out how it worked no matter how often he opened and closed it. A shirt of unfamiliar design went on next. The material and stitching were very fine, the stitches so small as to be almost invisible. He found no stockings, so put on a pair of the ugly shoes on his his bare feet, tying the laces tight. Everything fitted perfectly, which made him feel more and more confused. The comb and hairbrush on the little table by the bed had strands of long brown hair in them, the exact colour of his own; he brushed his hair and searched round for a ribbon. Finding none he left his hair loose and ran down the stairs, looking in every room, seeing unfamiliar furniture, the too-big windows and things he had no names for. In one room he paused, seeing something he at last understood. A loaf of bread stood on a table, wrapped in a clear material that crinkled when he touched it. Suddenly ravenous, he searched for a knife, discarding several with rounded blunt blades, and cut himself a piece, opening cupboards as he chewed. Platters and cups of thin, fine pottery, glass jars with pieces of paper on them with pictures of fruit, metal containers with paper adorning them too. How anyone could feed a household from such a small kitchen was beyond him.
"Strawberry preserve," he read out. He stood there, the jar in one hand, casting his eyes up in frustration. "Why would anyone waste paper on something like that?" he asked the empty room. He peered at the jar again, wondering why anyone would print such a thing, or why it was necessary to note the ingredients. He found a half-empty jar and spread the preserve on another slice of bread, opening a large white cupboard to discover it was cold and bright inside, and filled with other containers. He shook his head in disbelief at the box labelled "milk" and felt better at the sight of some completely comprehensible cheese. Some bottles on a shelf were labelled "beer" and he took one out. It took some effort to prise the top off with his knife, but finally he sat at the table and had a breakfast that was at least somewhat satisfying, even if the beer was stronger than he usually liked in the morning. After, he went outside and walked through the garden, which was smaller than it should be and not the neat, well-tended park he had walked in only the previous day. There was no orchard, no vegetable garden and the only fruits he saw were some large, dangerous-looking red berries on plants growing in a sunny spot against the house wall. He was totally alone, that was obvious, in a house that felt like his but was far too small and not right in any way.
He was left with two immediate problems - it seemed he would have to clean his bedchamber himself, and he had a growing need to relieve himself. He reluctantly went upstairs and carefully brought down the stinking box. He had seen no chamber pot in any of the rooms, nor a midden outside, which would have solved both his problems. Finally he left the box in a distant part of the garden and relieved himself against a tree. I should go into Vilnius, he thought, and immediately found himself shrinking from the thought. His heart was beating far too fast, leaving him a little light-headed. He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling breathless, his pulse racing far faster than it should. Something was wrong with Vilnius, he thought as his heart raced uncomfortably and he could take no more oddness just at that moment. I should find Poland, he thought, and felt more relieved. If he's not with me he must be with the king. If he weren't alone he'd feel much better. He looked about him once more, in the hope that the stable yard would suddenly reappear and he could ride, then he resignedly looked at the sun and started walking in the right direction.
* * *
He knew immediately when he had stepped from his lands to Poland's. It was shameful, he thought, how his eyes threatened to well up, as if he hadn't let himself think how alone he had been till he felt Poland's presence once more. He bent down to caress the earth. "Oh, Polska, what's happening?" he said, then called out, "Poland! Polska!" In the distance he saw a small house with a neat garden. The door opened, and a familiar head popped out. Poland looked round as if he'd heard someone calling, then went back inside. Lithuania felt his spirits lift and he ran down towards the house. When he reached it he pushed down the odd feeling at having to knock, and hammered on the door.
"Hold on! Sheesh, I'm coming, I'm coming," he heard, and then Poland opened the door himself. "Whoa, Liet," he said. "Were you just calling me? I rang but there was, like, no answer." He waved a small object at Lithuania in a way that seemed meant to convey some meaning. "Uhh, hi," he said as Lithuania flung his arms round him.
"My house is all wrong and no one's there, and you have a different house, and the garden's wrong and the stables have gone and where is everyone and it's far too small and why do you have a separate house?" Lithuania said.
"Um," Poland said, patting his back. "Huh? Liet? I didn't catch most of that." He pulled back a little to peer into Lithuania's face. "Dude, have you been drinking?"
"Only beer," Lithuania said."It's still morning." Poland was dressed in the same sort of clothes he had found in his chamber, and he sounded a little odd. "Why are you talking like that?"
Poland raised an eyebrow. "I'm not the one who's theeing and thouing. And, Liet, I know you're not a dedicated follower of fashion, but did you, like, get dressed in the dark or something?"
"No, it was quite light," Lithuania said. "Why are you keeping me on the doorstep?"
"I'm not," Poland said. He looked more closely at him and frowned. "You're totally in a tizz. Come on, in you come." He took Lithuania's arm and pulled him inside. "What's up?"
Lithuania looked round at the hallway. Poland's house was as wrong as his own; the hallway was too small, there weren't enough doors leading off it, and it was painted in peculiar colours. It was obviously a different house, and all Poland's - it should feel like it was his too, and it just didn't. "Poland," he said, "something's wrong. I woke up feeling so sick - is there a war? Why are our houses separate? Where are all the people in our household gone? If someone's trying to drive us apart why aren't you with the armies?" He looked round the unfamiliar hallway, feeling more and more panicked. "I can't even remember who's king," he said. "Who's our king right now? Why has he let this happen to us? Why does the Commonwealth feel so wrong?"
" - What?" Poland said. "Liet, I think maybe we'd better sit down." He took Lithuania's arm and led him into the kitchen, pushing him gently down onto a chair. "Have you had anything to eat?"
"Some bread and cheese, some beer and preserved fruit," Lithuania said. "Hardly anything. Why are we in the kitchen? Can't we sit in the sitting room?"
"If you want," Poland said. "I was going to get you some food, make you something to drink."
"You were going to get my food," Lithuania said blankly. Poland never did that kind of thing, he waited and had his dinner served to him. "Are the others not here?"
"The others?"
"Ukraine, Belarus, Estonia, Latvia, Moldavia -" Lithuania started, feeling with dread that he already knew the answer. Poland was looking at him very strangely.
"No, Liet," he said. "They're not here. They have their own houses."
"They rebelled?" Lithuania said in mixed horror and anger. "What, even Latvia?"
"No - well, yes, some of them, but not Latvia," Poland said.
"But who does the laundry?" Lithuania said in bewilderment. The idea of Poland scrubbing his own stockings was too bizarre to be considered. "Who mucks out your stables? There is someone here instead? There has to be!"
"Liet, you're talking, like, total nonsense. No, no, wait-" Poland pushed Lithuania back down into the chair. "Liet, stop, you're totally upset, what's going on?"
"Please, tell me," Lithuania said. "I'm telling you, I woke up and the world has gone mad." Poland was so stand-offish, he thought in unhappiness. He hadn't even offered the most formal of kisses. "Polska, please tell me -" he said, pleading.
"OK," Poland said, with a grin. "I'll go with it; you woke up and you thought we still had the Commonwealth. Have you, like, been drinking that stuff Estonia makes in his shed again?"
"What's wrong with the Commonwealth?" Lithuania whispered. "What do you mean I think we still have it?"
Poland stared into his face, the smile fading. "What's the date, Liet?"
"It's two days to the Nativity of John the Baptist," Lithuania said.
". . . OK, but what's the year?"
"The year? It's the year of Our Lord 1575, of course."
Poland gave a little laugh, and at once bit his lip. "No. It's 2009. Here, look -" He picked up a thick folded mass of printed paper, pointing to a line at the top. 9th July, 2009, it read. Lithuania shook his head.
"I don't understand, why are you joking? Yesterday we heard Mass, we went riding, we came home - to our house, our real house - we had lunch, we played chess and you cheated, and when it was evening we played music and had dinner, served by Ukraine, and then we went to bed." Believe me, he thought, you're the one who makes up wild things, not me. "And when I woke this morning I was sick, and you weren't there, no one was there and everything was wrong, Poland. Everything!"
"Dude, you went home two days ago, you said you had, like, a mountain of work. You rang last night for a chat, around about ten o'clock. And since when do I cheat at chess?"
Lithuania folded his arms. "I wasn't talking to anyone at such a late hour. We went to bed at the usual time, we lay together in love, we fell asleep - what?" Poland was looking at him even more oddly.
"Nothing," Poland said. "You're not usually so blasé about, you know -" He reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind Lithuania's ear. "Tell me you're kidding, Liet."
"I'm not, I swear," Lithuania said, taking his hand. "Help me make things go back to the way they should."
"Liet-" Poland said. He took a deep breath. "I'm not kidding either. It's over four hundred years later than you think it is." He pursed his lips, putting on what Lithuania had always thought of as his thinking face. "We look much the same, so that's no use. Let's see - Come with me." He pulled Lithuania out of the chair and out of the kitchen, up the stairs and into a bedchamber. Lithuania blinked at the pink ruffled pillows and the bright embroidered quilt. Clearly this was Poland's private room. "Take your shirt off," Poland said. "Here, let me help -" He started unbuttoning the shirt. "Sheesh, you had it buttoned wrong." He pulled it off and spun Lithuania round scrutinising him. "Yeah, you're, like, not a time traveller anyway."
"A what?" Lithuania said.
"Doesn't matter. Look -"
Lithuania found himself positioned in front of a long mirror set into a cabinet door. It was as clear and bright as the mirror he had found in his own house. Poland turned him so he had to look over his shoulder. He took a sharp intake of breath at the sight of the silvery scars crisscrossing his back, feeling his face go slack with surprise. He reached back to put a hand between his shoulder blades, feeling how one patch of skin felt peculiarly numb. In the mirror Poland's eyes went wide and round.
"Shit! Shit, Liet, you're serious - you didn't know they were there." He pulled Lithuania round so he couldn't see the mirror. "Don't look, it's freaking you out."
"Tell me," Lithuania said. Now that he had seen the scars he found he couldn't help but concentrate on how the numb patch felt. "You tell me now, Poland, what's going on. Why have our household gone and why weren't you there this morning?"
"Things have changed," Poland said. "The household, um. I guess we're all happier to be in our own houses right now - we all had to live in the same house for a while, someone else's house, and it totally sucked. We're not - I mean, you totally stay here most of the time, but we have separate houses and we're, like - separate."
"What?" Lithuania said, his misery and horror deepening. "Have we quarrelled? What did we fight about?"
"No," Poland said. "Well, not all that recently - wait, you're going to have to look at the scars again -" He turned Lithuania round to the mirror again, tracing a finger down the long scar that looped under his right arm and down his side. "This one," he said, and pulled off his own shirt, pointing to his own left shoulder where a wide scar came across the point and across his ribs, and to another lower down on the same side. "Put your arms round me," he said, and pulled Lithuania close. "Look."
Lithuania looked at their reflection, seeing how the scars matched up, starting on Poland's shoulder, coming down to run down his side, and crossing back over to Poland, ending in a trail over his kidney. "Polska -" he said. "What in the name of God happened?"
"They tore us apart," Poland said, stepping back. "Russia took you away, and wasn't a good guy about it. And then me -" he indicated fainter lines running across his body. "They cut me up." He shrugged. "I got better. Mostly. It wasn't, like, yesterday."
Lithuania stepped against him again, looking at the reflection in sick fascination. He'd lost his real house, his household and Poland too. It was easier to focus on Poland's injuries than on the rising despair. "Who hurt you?" he said, cupping a hand over the lower portion of the shared scar on Poland's side. It was slightly raised and felt strange to the touch. Poland shivered a little as he traced it, then held himself still. "Was it Russia?"
"Doesn't matter any more," Poland said.
"Who?"
Poland looked at him very straight. "Prussia, Russia and Austria," he said, then grinned. "Prussia got himself dissolved sixty years ago, Austria doesn't do much of anything any more - Russia got bigger and meaner than anyone expected, but two out of three totally isn't all that bad." He draped the shirt round Lithuania's shoulders. "Let's go back downstairs and have our breakfast." He smiled as Lithuania held on. "I'm OK, you know me."
"I know you," Lithuania said. "You don't complain about the things that really hurt you." He tightened his arms. "I'm going to kill them." He'd start with Austria, he decided. Once he had the armies of the Holy Roman Empire under his control it wouldn't matter how big and mean Russia was. How could I have let this happen to you? he thought, and kissed Poland in silent apology. Poland took a sharp, squeaking breath, then for one brief moment he responded, tilting his head to make the angle better, his hand rising to cup the back of Lithuania's head, and then stepped back quickly, looking almost comically dismayed.
"I should put on a pot of coffee!" he said, overly cheerful. "You've totally forgotten coffee, right?" He grabbed up his shirt and practically ran down the stairs, leaving Lithuania to follow, wondering what had just happened.
Downstairs Poland bustled round the kitchen, staying just out of arm's reach. "These are bran flakes," he said. "Modern science shows we need more fibre, dude, and coniferous forests just don't cut it. And bread, and jam, and I know I have more cheese in here -" He started rummaging in a white cabinet like the cold one Lithuania had found in his own house. "Hey, would you like eggs? I can totally do you some eggs, and I have this cool smoked kiełbasa - here's the milk, and I'll put the coffee on -"
Lithuania managed to take his arm as he slipped past. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Poland said with a sunny smile. "Except for you, Liet - I'm just, like, worried what happened to you. Maybe you hit your head and it made you forget four hundred years of stuff. Does your head hurt?"
"It did, earlier," Lithuania said, and squeezed his arm. "You're upset."
"You just forgot four centuries and got a nasty shock with the scars," Poland said. "Just showing some natural concern, dude."
Lithuania let him go back to his foraging in cupboards. Poland's usual idea of showing concern was to laugh at problems till they gave up hope of being taken seriously and slunk away. It was almost as if he were embarrassed by something, which was as ridiculous as the idea of him cooking for himself. He smiled peaceably at him, and sat when urged to. Given enough time Poland would blurt out what was on his mind, and Lithuania could fix it for him. He started eating the food that was put in front of him, and grimaced at the bitter, black liquid poured into a cup.
"Don't you have any beer?" he asked.
"Beer," Poland repeated, and then beamed. "Hey, yeah! We totally used to drink beer at breakfast!" He took bottles from the white cupboard and poured Lithuania and himself glasses. "This'll help with dealing with the boss," he said happily, taking a drink. "Thinking back, how did we ever get anything done after breakfast?"
"This is stronger than we're used to in the morning," Lithuania reminded him. "Polska, are you sure it's not 1575?"
"Let me show you," Poland said, getting up. "No, you stay there, have something more to eat, I just have to find something." He left the kitchen, purpose in his face. Lithuania crumbled a piece of cheese between his fingers, thinking, I've lost my home, I'm sitting in Poland's too-small kitchens, and Poland seems to be used to doing his own chores. It was horribly strange.
"Here we are!" Poland sang out, coming back. He plopped a book on the table in front of Lithuania, and blinked as Lithuania scooped it up protectively.
"You can't just put a book down surrounded by food!" Lithuania said, horrified. "What if the butter gets on it?"
"Dude, who cares? If it gets too buttery I can always buy another one," Poland said, then, "Oh, right. Don't worry, they're like, a zillion times cheaper in real money than they used to be."
"Real money?" Lithuania said plaintively as Poland wrestled the book away from him. "What's unreal money?" Poland flipped through the pages, and waited for a space to be cleared on the table before he put it down again, open to brightly coloured pages.
"This is a historical atlas," he said. "This is us as you remember us, right?"
Lithuania wiped his hands and bent over the book, looking at himself and Poland, arms tight round in each other in a close embrace, then let his eyes focus differently so he could see the borders and territories. "Yes," he said, looking at the vast and spacious lands. "This is us."
"And -" Poland said, taking the book up again and flicking forward. He paused, looking at another page, a sour expression on his face. "Well, maybe not that one," he muttered and went to a page nearer to the end. "This is us now."
Lithuania looked at their borders, the thick black line separating him from Poland. He frowned at the sight of the neighbouring territories. "Can Latvia really manage his own house?" he said. "Or Belarus?"
Poland made a rude noise. "Oh, yeah, your eye goes right to Belarus, like that's a surprise." He grinned. "You used to totally check her out every time she bent over."
"I did not!" Lithuania said. Poland laughed at him again, which was so much better than the odd way he'd been acting before that Lithuania shrugged a little sheepishly. "Well, I only ever looked." He turned his attention back to the map, the feeling of loss and disorientation growing. "Our houses are so small," he said, "and this -" he traced a finger above the border. "Why do we allow it?"
Poland didn't answer for a moment, then, "You like your independence. Russia made you live in his house for ages and you, like, wanted your own place."
"I want to go home," Lithuania said, closing his eyes for a moment. "Not that little house, our home. You wanted to go hawking today, and I wanted to see you get all tangled up in the jesses as usual."
"Thanks," Poland said sarcastically. "I, like, never got tangled up."
"Always," Lithuania said, and closed the book. Poland was leaning forward, one hand on the table. He didn't look any older than Lithuania remembered, but the unfamiliar scars on both their bodies and all the strangeness in both their houses made him feel very far from home. "Let's knock down the fence between our houses."
Poland looked at him sidelong. "So if I said, Dude, let's totally get the Commonwealth going again -"
"Yes, of course."
Poland shook his head. "Ninety years, I wait for that, and it's way too late. Our people wouldn't go for it, Liet. Which sucks." He patted Lithuania's hand. "You wouldn't go for it either. Spilt milk, no crying. Let's just get you up to speed on the modern world before we go out later. We're supposed to be meeting people tonight, how about I be the one to choose your party clothes?"
"That's the same, at least," Lithuania said. "I'm not sure I want to meet anyone."
"You totally have to," Poland said. "We have trade meetings tomorrow and we need to be sociable tonight. It'll be people you know, Hungary and - OK, maybe some of them you won't know, but you have to be there. Just smile and let me do the talking. We don't need people asking why you're all, Forsooth, I know not what yon serf thinketh he be doing. Oh, by the way? No one's a serf any more."
"Is that why you do your own chores?"
Poland shrugged. "I guess. Come with me, I totally need to something about your clothes."
"Do you have proper clothes?" Lithuania asked, following him into the hall and back up the stairs.
"Duh. Unless you mean middle ages stuff." Poland looked over his shoulder, pursing his lips at Lithuania's incomprehension and added, " - Stuff you're used to wearing."
"Do you at least have a ribbon?" Lithuania sighed, brushing his hair back from his eyes.
There was a smile in Poland's voice as he replied. "I have ribbons. I'll pick you a pretty one." He opened the door to another bedchamber and beckoned Lithuania inside. "This is your room - do you remember anything now you see it?"
Lithuania shook his head, looking around. The bed was too small, the window too big - Poland did something to the wall and a bright light came on overhead. Lithuania stared at it, entranced, trying to see where the candle was.
"OK, clothes off," Poland said, opening a tall cupboard and revealing more unfamiliar clothes. "If you go out half dressed in uniform like that people will think you're making some sort of point."
Lithuania sighed and knelt to unlace the shoes, taking them off gratefully. He fumbled with the odd fastening of the breeches and pulled them down at last, looking up again to meet Poland's sceptical gaze.
" - Dude," Poland said, raising one eyebrow, "there's getting half-dressed and there's, like, getting half-dressed. I'd better find you some underwear as well." He rummaged in a drawer and tossed some skimpy and uncomfortable-looking things to Lithuania. "Here you go."
Lithuania turned them round and round till he was sure he had them right, and climbed into them. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and found he wanted to laugh, for the first time that day. "These are the most ridiculous things I've ever seen," he said. "It can't be good for the private parts to be so confined." He caught the next things Poland threw and looked at them quizzically.
"On your feet, dude!"
"People don't wear proper stockings any more?" Lithuania said, pulling them on. His reflection now looked more ridiculous than ever.
"I do, but you've always refused to let me put a garter belt on you. C'mere -" Poland unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off. "This is totally out of fashion, I don't know why you keep it. Put these on, I bought them for you so they actually look like clothes. You can put on something nicer when we go out." He helped Lithuania dress, humming happily. This hasn't changed, Lithuania thought with relief. Poland had always loved dressing them both up, spending a great deal of money and time making sure they were both what he deemed as presentable. He looked in the mirror when Poland was done and pretended he could see the difference. He supposed the breeches did sit better on him, and the shirt was soft and comfortable, but they still weren't what he was used to wearing. "A ribbon," Poland said. "Wait a mo -" He went into his own room and soon reappeared with a length of red velvet ribbon. "Sit down, I'll fix your hair." Lithuania obediently sat in front of the mirror and watched as Poland brushed his hair, his face intent as he pulled it back and tied the ribbon. "There," he said, and brushed one hand quickly over Lithuania's head. "It's been a long time since I did that."
"You did it yesterday," Lithuania said softly. Poland met his eyes in the glass, and his nostalgic little smile died away.
"Liet -" he said, his voice quiet. "Ah, never mind. It's OK."
It was too much to see Poland look sad when he should be laughing and carefree as usual. He never looked sad, not even when Lithuania was giving him a piece of his mind for being lazy and willing to let others do his work. Lithuania turned and took his hand. "I want something familiar," he said. "I'll listen to whatever you say, I'll believe you that it's four hundred years in the future, I'll be quiet and let you speak for me this evening, if you want that, but I want something familiar right now, something of home."
"More beer?"
"No," Lithuania said, standing, and put a hand on the side of his face and kissed him. "What?" he said in frustration as Poland drew back. "What is it?"
"Nothing," Poland said, and leant forward, a careful space between them, to press his lips courteously and passionlessly against his, as if he were returning a favour.
"Oh," Lithuania said, as hopeful realisation hit him, "did I embrace you too tightly before? Do your scars hurt? I'm sorry, Polska, I'll be more gentle -" He put his arms carefully round him, kissing him again, and feeling a knot grow in his stomach as it became clearer and clearer that Poland was merely allowing him to do so. "We have quarrelled," he said unhappily. Or, he thought in sorrow, Poland's enemies had hurt him in ways he didn't want to think about. "You're safe with me," he said. "I'd never hurt you. Polska - dearest, did someone - hurt you?"
"No - no, no, don't worry, it's just - dude, you know me, I'm selfish and tactless and like, take no one else into account, as this pal of mine from Lithuania frequently reminds me," Poland said ruefully, "and I don't want to upset you. You don't really want to kiss me, Liet."
"I want to do a lot more than kiss you," Lithuania said in relief, stroking his face. "I remember you as you were last night," he murmured in Poland's ear. "There was no hesitation then, except when you tried to hold back from coming to completion for just a little while longer." Poland went a bright and remarkable pink and Lithuania felt a helpless smile cross his face. "So lovely," he said, nuzzling into his hair.
"My God," Poland said. "God, Liet, you never talk like that."
"Yes I do."
"You don't!" Poland spluttered. " - Not for a long time."
"Why not?" Lithuania said, kissing his temple. "Have I become so old and staid that I no longer enjoy the act of love?" He laughed a little against Poland's skin. "Maybe you've become a monk and feel warm only in the company of young nuns? Polska, don't be silly, why are you embarrassed that I want you? You're my own -" he said, punctuating his words with little kisses, " - sweet - Polska." Poland was relaxing in his embrace, a look of yearning in his eyes. "Help me take off these ugly clothes you helped me put on," Lithuania said, sure of his victory.
" - We can't," Poland said, and began to slip free.
"God's wounds, you'd think I'd tried to bend you over the kitchen table and ravish you!" Lithuania cried in angry unhappiness.
Poland winced and stepped back, then started to laugh, patting at Lithuania's arm when he got more annoyed. "Liet, Liet," he wheezed, "d'you, like, remember Ukraine's face?"
Lithuania glared at him, then smiled, half-unwilling. "She swore she wouldn't cook one single more meal and she'd rebel right away unless we scoured the table ourselves," he said, "and then she made you wash the floor. I can still see you wrestling with that mop - I don't know if I'd ever seen you wetter except when you were swimming. And after all that she and Latvia chopped the table up anyway and we had to get a new one. I never understood how he didn't cut his own foot off, he's the clumsiest boy I've ever seen."
"Dude, I can still hear the horrified shrieks coming from the kitchens every day," Poland sniggered. "Latviaaaaaaaa!" He took a breath. "We fought," he said. "I tried to make you come back too soon and we fought and we went to war. I mean, we're friends again now, but, I guess I learnt my lesson for once about rushing things."
"We went to war," Lithuania repeated. "We went to war?"
"And then we didn't talk for years," Poland said. "It sucked."
"I don't know anything about that," Lithuania said, horrified at the idea. "I just know you're my dear partner - what did we fight about?"
"I, um," Poland said. "I sort of seized Vilnius."
"You wanted my heart?" Lithuania said, taking his hand and pressing it to his chest, feeling again the unfamiliar, fast rhythm. "Why didn't you just ask? Let me love you, Polska." With his other hand he tucked Poland's hair back behind his ears, stroking his fingers lightly over his face. The idea of Poland seizing Vilnius was ridiculous; all he remembered was them so recently becoming one nation, no matter what the evidence of his own, little house had told him earlier. "You know I can't refuse you anything."
"I've missed us; when I ask you to go to bed with me you say I have to wait just a bit longer. I mean, we're not, like, fighting and I think you want to, but it's just - I just don't want you to be upset," Poland said.
"I have no desire to wait," Lithuania said.
Poland stroked his hand over his chest, pressing down over his heart. "You still totally have my heart - do I have yours?"
"Always."
"Are you sure?" Poland said, sounding like someone holding back from a longed-for treat.
"I'll try to say it in your modern manner," Lithuania said, pulling him closer. "Like, totally."
The last traces of sadness slowly cleared from Poland's face and he smiled sunnily as he willingly came back into Lithuania's arms. "Hey, if I take you at your word, just promise you won't, like, slap me from one end of the house to the other afterwards," he said.
"Shhh," Lithuania said, and kissed him quiet.
They were faster at getting the clothes off again than Lithuania had been in putting them on, and he was pleased to find that the bed, although not as big as their real one, was soft and comfortable, and had more than enough space for both of them.
* * *
Part Two