Chapter 3


The meeting seemed to pass by in a blur. In just a short while Cyprus found himself bidding farewell to most of the other nations as they exited the Palace with immense relief. Yet again the world conference seemed to have accomplished little, but at least it was over for another month.

Soon it was only Cyprus and several others left in the room—surprisingly, Turkey wasn't there, and Cyprus remembered there had been no sight or sound of the Turk at all throughout the meeting. It was definitely fortunate—for both him and Greece—that the old man had decided not to show up.

But North was still here, and, well . . . so was Greece.

Cyprus pushed back his chair, heaving a sigh with a fatigue that had nothing to do with his two hours of sleep from the night before. Quietly he approached Greece, who still had his head buried in his arms at the far end of the table and appeared to be asleep; yet incoherent sounds issued from his still form.

"Greece, wake up, the meeting's over," said Cyprus, shaking him gently, but Greece barely responded except with a mumble that sounded something like 'ouzo.'

"What?"

"More . . . ouzo," said Greece, more distinctly this time, before finally collapsing into a deep slumber from which he could not be awakened.

Cyprus, meanwhile, tried to keep back the shock.

So Greece had been drinking, after all. The fact bothered Cyprus more than he dared admit—his brother had never been much of a heavy drinker at all. And yet here he was, thoroughly inebriated and at a world conference, no less. There was something very, very wrong with what Cyprus was seeing.

He pushed any disturbing possibilities out of his mind and proceeded to lift the older Greek from his chair with some difficulty. North was suddenly at his side to help, but with hardened face and stern silence.

"Thanks," gasped Cyprus as he finally managed to get the sleeping Greece onto his back and carry him back to the car, almost ten minutes from the Presidential Palace.

The drive home was much quieter than usual, and longer, too; perhaps it was the fact that no one had anything much to say, least of all Greece. Cyprus decided, however, that he wasn't going to let the silence hang around for long.

"Were you all right during the meeting?" he said over his shoulder to North in the back seat. There was a short pause, and then the young nation finally replied.

"Yes, I was fine. It was just . . . really loud." He sounded rather subdued, however, and Cyprus grew concerned.

"What happened? Did they say something to you?"

"No, no . . . they didn't say anything."

There was something about North's voice, though, that indicated otherwise.

"You can tell me. I'll make sure to have a word with them for you."

But North didn't answer, instead turning to fix a stony glare at the still-sleeping Greece. Cyprus sighed and refocused his attention on driving; he would have to deal with all other worries later, despite the suspicions that were already beginning to rise to the surface.

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Cyprus knew he was well and truly exhausted when even lifting all the pots and pans from the dishwasher proved too much for him. He tried to fight it, although he knew his efforts were doomed to fail, and ended up dropping everything all over the floor with a mighty crash.

Immediately North came running into the kitchen, the worry in his face intensifying when he saw Cyprus.

"Cyprus! Are you all right?"

"Yes . . . my hands just slipped," Cyprus managed, and attempted to pick everything up, but found that his arms felt rather weak.

"You've been working too hard," North said with an accusatory look. When Cyprus made no attempt at denial, the boy snatched the pots and pans away and began scouring the pantry for food.

"What are you doing?" Cyprus called.

"I'm going to cook now," came the short reply. "You go rest."

"What? No—"

"Yes. Just let me, all right?"

Cyprus shook his head in disbelief and (half forced by North) retreated to the living room, where he stretched out tiredly on the couch. His younger brother really could be a surprise sometimes, but there was no denying that Cyprus fully appreciated it.

Glancing to his right, he saw that Greece, on the opposite sofa, had finally begun to stir.

"W-where am I?" he groaned, before opening his eyes to take stock of his surroundings. "C-Cyprus?"

Cyprus, having ignored his own fatigue, was already by his side, trying to keep his concern from showing.

"Greece, you were out for the longest time . . ."

"I know . . ." Greece still looked dazed as he glanced around, and Cyprus wasn't entirely sure the drunkenness had worn off. "Why am I here, though . . .?"

Cyprus ignored the question. "You were drinking, weren't you?"

Greece squinted at him.

". . . How did you know?"

Cyprus, despite himself, felt something like frustration take hold of him.

"You still smell like it, you know—I've never seen you like this before, Greece! What made you do that? What happened?"

He knew he was overreacting. But he couldn't just let it go; his brother looked so tired, so worn, so . . .

Broken.

No. No. Do not. Do not think that, do not.

Ever.

Greece was staring back at him, disbelief showing in his eyes along with a certain defensiveness.

"What's it to you? I . . . I was simply tired . . . and lonely . . ."

"But you don't do that to yourself when you're tired or lonely!" Cyprus's voice rose a notch, and he struggled to compose himself. "You know I'm always here to talk, Greece, whenever you want! But you never do, and I—"

"Okay, look, Cyprus," interrupted Greece, startling Cyprus by the sudden coolness of his tone. The previous weakness he'd shown had now mostly gone. "It's my own business, and I can deal quite well with it, myself. You don't need to worry. All right?"

There was the sinking feeling in Cyprus's chest again—but it was worse this time. Much worse.

He was faintly aware that soft footsteps from behind indicated North was listening intently, but he didn't care.

". . . I'm sorry, Greece," he said quietly. "I . . . shouldn't have said all that."

Greece made a sound that was probably meant to be conciliatory and forgiving, but Cyprus barely registered it, instead turning away slightly to take away some of the numbness he felt. But it was his first mistake, as Greece immediately caught sight of North standing directly in the doorway behind them.

The older Greek's face darkened noticeably and he stood up, fixing Cyprus with an accusing look.

"You brought that kid here again." His voice was cold.

"Greece, you know he and I—" Cyprus tried to protest, but his brother was having none of it.

"I said no. How many times did I tell you not to associate with him?"

"But, Greece—"

"No buts. Get him out of here, right now."

Cyprus didn't budge.

"I could tell you to get out, Greece," said North suddenly, deep hostility in his voice, and both Greeks turned to look at him in surprise.

"North, don't say that!" Cyprus exclaimed, but it was useless; the argument, it seemed, was now raging between his two brothers.

"So, you really think you could do that? Make me get out of here?" Greece took a step closer to North, who somehow held his ground.

"Yes, I can."

Greece gave a short, derisory laugh that was chilling to hear. "I'd like to see you try."

"Then I will."

Another laugh from Greece. "By all means, go ahead."

North said nothing more, his eyes still filled with hatred. He took a step back, as though to run; but instead Cyprus saw his hands tighten and clench into fists. For just a second the room was completely, deathly quiet.

And then a blinding flash of light filled the room.

Cyprus was forcefully thrown back against the couch; Greece was shouting in outrage, somewhere nearby in the brilliance.

"What—what the hell—" he spluttered. "You—you little—"

"WHO HURT THE TURKISH REPUBLIC OF NORTHERN CYPRUS!?"

The new shout silenced all, echoing loudly through the room as the light finally began to give way. Cyprus just so happened to be the first to see the new arrival, and despite any previous suspicions, the sight of the figure before him was enough to bring the shock crashing down heavily.

"It's . . . it's you!?" he gasped.