Heracles hears about the fall of the Ottoman Empire.

Something in him mourns.


He sees Sadik again at a world meeting.

(Heracles has to pause to wonder if this is what it's like to see a ghost; this is not the Sadik he remembers, proud and strong, with that ever present mask. This Sadik hangs low, shoulders curled forward as though Atlas has dropped the world on them. His eyes, a haunting green in the flickering lighting of the conference room, look sunken and dead.

This is not the Ottoman Empire that Heracles once knew.)

Sadik does not speak and Heracles does not say anything when they brush by each other in the corridor, but he lingers in the back of Heracles' mind for the rest of the day.

(He sees him again at the end of the day, when they're all going their separate ways.

"You're alive," he says, in passing, but does not dare look Sadik in the eye.

The fallen empire's laugh is laced with bitterness. "Not alive. Surviving. Merely existing.")


When Heracles arrives home, Egypt is in the kitchen, perched on the counter with some grapes in hand. He's the only one Heracles really stayed close to after gaining independence - everyone else went their separate ways. Greece isn't surprised to see him - he merely tips his head and dodges Gupta's swinging feet to reach by and dig through the refrigerator for something to drink.

"Was this your first time seeing him?" Egypt asks, golden eyes fixed on Heracles.

He can feel the other nation's gaze burning into his skull. "Yeah," he says, but doesn't look up, "it was."

Egypt merely blinks slowly, tips his head, and pops another grape into his mouth.

"You should go see him."

Heracles stops, halfway to the exit of the kitchen. "Yeah," he sighs, softly, "maybe I should."

But he and Egypt both know he won't.


Greece isn't sure what possesses him to pass notes at the next meeting. Turkey is two seats down from him and he scribbles messily on a scrap of paper and slips it casually around the Italian brothers, who take no notice. On Sadik's other side, Egypt doesn't miss the slip of paper, locking eyes with Heracles, but only momentarily.

By then, Heracles has already completed his task and relaxes back in his seat again. He knows, instinctively, when Sadik reads it - the sound of it being opened is loud to him, even if nobody else pays it any attention.

Heracles doesn't get a response.

("You should just go visit him," Japan tells him later, when Heracles falls into step with the Eastern nation.

Gupta is with Turkey, so his other friend had been out of the question.

"Maybe I should," Greece says again, and he's not sure if he means it or not anymore.)


Heracles doesn't bring up the subject again for a couple of years. They go by in a blink - a split second in which he questions his place in the grand scheme of things. There was a song, he recalls, that his mother used to sing, but Greece can't remember the words anymore. His mind is too swamped with papers and money and problems upon problems. He just wants to sleep.

For the first time in a while, Heracles goes to church.

He's done a lot of bad and can't really think of the last time he repented for it. Most of the time, he questions just how religious he really is. His country is, sure, but Heracles can't help but wonder about his own personal beliefs.

He doesn't recognize any of the people inside. By now, he supposes, all of the old members have probably died. These are their children, or their children's children, perhaps. Greece isn't completely sure how much time has passed. In the end, he sits silently in the back and contemplates his life as he half listens to the sermon.

The pastor approaches him later, when he's standing still, watching the life move on around him.

"You're new," the man says, preparing to hand Heracles pamphlets.

"No," Greece replies, "I've been here for a long time."

The next time, he makes a point of switching churches.


At the next world meeting, Greece writes another note. He asks, what's death like?

Turkey grabs him by the wrist after the meeting ends and looks him dead in the eye. "It's pure nothingness. You're nothing but a speck in this entire universe."

Heracles turns the words over and over in his mind for a long time.


"He talks about you, you know," Egypt tells him, tucking up in the corner of the worn couch.

Heracles is shuffling through his movies when the African country speaks, but he doesn't pause or give any sign that he's heard. Gupta knows he's listening. Greece is just taking his time, gathering his thoughts. He's seen every last one of these films at least twice - he's bored of them now. He and Egypt both know that they'll just end up scrolling aimlessly through the television before something is put on for the sake of background noise.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Greece doesn't immediately respond. He doesn't need to; he's frowning and he can feel Egypt's gaze burning into his back again. Heracles can't say he's any different - he knows he talks about Turkey more than he should; thinks about him and their history more than he should. Heracles puts the movies away and picks up the remote, turning to the couch, but avoiding Gupta's eyes. Egypt, just like that, sits up straight abruptly, abandoning his previously relaxed posture. Heracles is just trying to lock away the conclusion when Egypt voices it.

"Oh my god," says Gupta, wide eyed, staring Heracles down, "you're in love."


Greece isn't sure how he finds himself at Turkey's door.

The house is the same as he remembers, but more foreboding. There are so many memories in this place, good and bad. There's a sort of haze over them all. Heracles can't ever forget them, but they've all amassed in a spot in his distant memory, never quite at the forefront until now. Now, they all push forward and he's suddenly overwhelmed, considers turning back. But his fingers are already reaching above the door, where he knows Turkey still keeps his spare key, and unlocking the door.

Sadik will be expecting him, he knows. He probably knew the moment Heracles crossed into his borders.

Memories flood Greece immediately. He hears laughing, sees faded shapes of young nations racing down the hall, down the long, endless corridor. He remembers all the games and the fights, remembers the few silent times in the dead of night, remembers the way he wandered these halls as a child, freshly woken from nightmares about his mother. He remembers the library in the dead of night, moonlight filtering through the curtains, providing just enough light for Greece to flip aimlessly through Turkey's many books. Nowadays, he's not sure if he ever actually read a single one.

Most vividly, he recalls the day he left, walking down this hall one final time.

Heracles retraces his steps, silently, remembering himself from the days he wanted his freedom from this empire. He draws himself up straight, steps forward in the hall. He doesn't have Mount Athos with him today, but he imagines the cross in his hand. He knows where Sadik will be.

Heracles does not step on the board.

Sadik is at his desk. He looks exhausted, shoulders weighed down and dark bags beneath his eyes. His mask is off for once, and his dull green eyes are brooding, fixed on some point in the distance, focused on something that Heracles can't see. Turkey doesn't move when Heracles steps in, but Greece knows the man is aware of his presence. He takes his time, tracing a nook in the floor that Mount Athos had left, recalling the last time they'd been in this room together. It always seems to begin and end here.

"Sometimes, Sadik," Greece whispers, and finally, Turkey's eyes slowly slide to him, "memories are the worst form of torture."

Sadik snorts, trying to draw himself up. He is still recovering; his country is strong, but he is not. Heracles knows he is thinking about the memories this house will eternally hold.

"Using my own words against me? Never thought I'd see the day."

Heracles is exhausted. They've been playing this game for too long. He sinks down, sits on the floor and leans against the wall, allowing his shoulders to drop. This isn't the Ottoman Empire anymore. It's just Turkey. It's just Sadik. Turkey hardly hesitates; he drags himself up out of his seat and crosses the room, sinking down beside Greece. Greece closes his eyes and drops his head against Turkey's shoulder, feeling the weight of the other man's head against his just a moment later. It's been a long time, he thinks. Just in general; it's been a long time.

"I'm sorry," Sadik sighs, softly, voice rough with exhaustion.

"Me too," says Heracles, reaching out to take Sadik's hand.