Rejected Kindness
'Rejected Heart'
[ A/N: That awkward moment where you realize that you've been working on this fic, on and off, since about August...and only have ten chapters done. Orz. I need to get my butt in gear.
Once I start updating this fic, it seems that I can't stop. Once again, thank you to the kind reviewers who give me such strength. (one of you got so excited that you reviewed eight out of the ten chapters I wrote, ha ha, thank you!) Whenever I'm at a writer's block or I just can't gather up the motivation to do more work, I open up the pages of reviews I've gotten and those give me the strength to start typing. Thanks, you guys, and here's another wonderful chapter. ]
/
Gilbert remembers Peter, the Peter from a long time ago. He remembers the little abandoned war fort who was meek and sickly.
He remembers because he is part of Germany.
He remembers the small boy, curled up in Francis' arms, unable to even stand on his own...the Frenchman, holding him as if he was the only thing keeping the child from breaking completely...Bates, the man who would become Prince of Sealand, and his family, designing the former war fort's constitution…to turn it into a Principality, a micro nation that would strive for affection and acknowledgment from the one person that it could be never attained from.
It wasn't that important to Gilbert at first, in all honesty. He only traveled to the rusted iron war fort so he could be away from Ivan, just for a while.
A German had helped them design the things that were to become the basis Principality of Sealand's constitution. A German had inadvertently saved him. And Gilbert, as much as he denied it, was East Germany, so he remembered.
Gilbert remembers. He remembers how Peter was, when he was sick and dying. He remembers everything about the boy, because it's not often that one can see a child personification, even one that should not exist.
He remembers the boy, who flinched when Gilbert tried to ease his fears, the one who would cling to a tattered stuffed rabbit as fear-lidded eyes regarded the former empire with distrust. The child who wouldn't speak, who was too weak and tired to speak, and who looked just about ready to die.
Ludwig might not remember, but Gilbert did. Gilbert didn't have many diverse memories, being stuck with Russia and the Baltic nations, being shuffled in and out of hotel rooms every day, staring at different white ceilings as the hours ticked by.
He had been there, he had seen what lonely memories Arthur had left there. The boy crying, pleading for the older Kirkland, was enough to bring tears into even the hardest of soldiers. The child who clung to a soothing Francis, who cried and begged for his brother, his big brother, to come back and take him, Arthur had to come back, because he promised to love him forever.
The one who asked for his brother, every night as Francis so lovingly tucked him into his cot with a warm quilt imported from the finest of fabrics, because Francis insisted that Peter deserved the best, if this Constitution fell through and Peter left this world for the next.
Gilbert remembers Peter clearly. He remembers the child whose eyes slowly lit up as the life filled back into him. Even if he only saw the boy for a few measly days, the impression that he made on the albino lasted nearly a decade.
He remembers more then he ever wanted to, because it's painful to recall the tear stained, flinching eyes of a child that trusted no one, a child who couldn't trust. A weak, sick and dying boy whose life depended on a lousy piece of paper declaring him a separate entity from England, it's own sovereign principality.
It hurt to remember, because it reminded Gilbert so much of the pain he went through before he became East Germany. The pain after being dissolved, and yet it was much more intensified in the child curled up in Francis' arms, begging for that warmth and affection. Peter, who had been suffering for eleven long, hard, isolated years, held on for much longer, clung to live with more force and more desperation then any nation that the Empire of Prussia had ever come across.
And it hurt, to see that in a boy, only a handful of years old. A boy who should not be forced into dealing with horrors and pain, of abandonment and the aching emptiness that replaced the love that should be there.
Opening his crimson-tinted eyes, Gilbert pushed the memories away. He has no time for reminiscing. He as a job to do, to once again try to save an innocent blond child from perpetual loneliness.
/
As part of the plan, earlier that day, Roy Bates had been called to Austria for business meetings and negotiations. This was merely a facade, obviously, a trick to get the Prince off the island in order to overtake the metal war fort more easily.
Of course, there were others. Other men, who had been coaxed into overthrowing this 'pseudo-country' for different reasons. Gilbert and Lars had their own agenda, however, and didn't care much for the businessmen that had been railed. They had their own goal, their own accomplishments to fulfill.
They are to kidnap Peter. That was the plan. The invasion force - or as Lars had put it, the 'take-over-while-they-aren't-looking' plan, was merely a facade to their real goals. Peter, the pseudo-nation-tan, the child whom for so long had been without love, was their target. They were to kidnap and then, if necessary, taunt and goad Arthur into making a move - whenever that move be an action of kindness and love or contempt and apathy remained to be seen.
The Netherlands lights up a pre-celebratory cigarette. He offers one to Gilbert, but the albino declines, for now. The spiked-haired brunette merely shrugged it off and flicked open his lighter. "Nervous?" he asked gruffly, casting a glance at the other.
Gilbert shakes his head and narrows his eyes as the leader of this little expedition-a man who claimed to own 'Sealand' and demanded it for his own-then mutters under his breath, so only Lars can hear. "I just...I'm remembering. Th' kid. I was pretty surprised, when you and Roddy told me that we were going to rescue him. Peter, I just...I 'member him. I remember what Arthur did to him...makes me feel like a shit brother, that's f'r sure."
Lars merely murmurs in reply. "Yeah, I know. I've seen how Arthur treats him...no brother should be that way. No kid should have to deal with his life alone, without someone t'guide him...we had t'go through that, when we were brats. I can't believe Arthur would ever do such a thing, forcing his kin to go it out alone. And it's worse, because at least we had each other, all growin' up at the same time...we were a family. Dysfunctional, yeah, but a family.
It's despicable to see a kid go it out alone."
The two jerk up as the group begins to move. The Netherlands is the first to stand, lumbering up as his eyes narrow. "Let's get moving," he says darkly, spitting out his cigarette and stomping down on it with his thick, black boot.
"Let's go. We got a kid to save."
/
Sealand had a habit of sleeping on a huge pile of sheets and blankets, left there from the days that he was a war fort.
Only his head is visible in his pile of blankets and sheets - he always stacks them as high as they can go, and piles them up on the floor to his room. Every single time, without fail, after he comes back to the iron structure on yet another failed attempt at attending the United Nations conferences, he dumps all the spare blankets and sheets and sulks there for an entire day, sometimes more, depending on how upset he feels.
The Bates call it comfort therapy. Peter calls it sulking. He would sulk and huddle under the blankets for the entire day, his citizens, the Bates, would leave him be, and the guards would call him only for supper.
Next time, he always promises himself, there's always next time. Next time, Arthur will recognize me as a nation.
He never believes it, but he can always promise it to himself. It's not like promises are meant to be kept, anyway.
Everything was empty.
It was always empty.
It's because of that constant emptiness, this aching in his chest, that Peter Kirkland can feel something happening on the surface. The familiar sound and feeling of hard, heavy boots start rumbling above, climbing the ladders and shouting, yelling and shouting. Peter recognizes the feeling from his days when soldiers were they, when they would laugh and talk and gamble.
For a moment, Peter thinks he's dreaming, blissfully dreaming of days when he wasn't so lonely, but then the rumbling grows louder, and the child realizes that the shouts are not happy, but rageful and angry. Sealand's breath hitches slightly, and he immediately knows that this is reality, and worse yet - this is a dangerous reality. Something's wrong.
At first, Sealand thinks he should run up the long stairway to the surface, grab whatever gun he can find, and attack whatever-or whoever-is trying to overrun his territory. The boy might feel downtrodden, but that was no excuse to skirmish on his duties as a full-blown nation.
That was before he hears the gunshots.
As soon as he hears the gunshots, Peter knows that this means trouble.
Looking around, Sealand knows he has to make a quick decision - one that could very well mean his life. After a quick moment, he dives under the covers and curls into a ball, making himself as small as possible. Praying that no one will look for him here, Sealand shuts his eyes tightly as his heart pounds in his chest, his little fingers shaking.
He knows gunshots. He hates gunshots. The only things in the world that frighten him into this state are gunshots and thunderstorms.
Without warning, the door to his room is busted open. Peter squeezes his chest as he begins to cry, the tears slipping from his eyes onto the sheets and pillows. With a fearful, tiny whimper, the child curls into himself.
This is the end, he thought with a silent sob. This is the end, I'm going to die.
Without warning, the blankets above him are ripped away, and Sealand is hoisted up. With a cry, the boy instinctively begins to squirm and struggle, to try and get away from his captor. He catches a glimpse of silver and red before something hard and wooden is slammed into the back of his head, and everything becomes fuzzy. Some yelling goes on, and Peter can feel himself being shifted from one pair of arms into another, before everything turns a pitch, empty black.
-TBC
[ A/N: Whew, I'm going to be sore in the morning...I'm exhausted, ubuu. I hope you all enjoyed, at the very least!
On a separate note, fun facts you learn while researching - a German really did help develop plans for Sealand. In fact, there's a faction in Germany that claims to be the 'true' government of Sealand, but that comes along later in history. If only researching for essays could be this fun! ]