The Art of Insanity
It takes skill to be an agent, but only an artist can manage the true properties of Insanity.
Sun Tzu said: that the art of war is a vital importance to the state. It is a matter of life and death, a road either to safety, or to ruin.
The smile that broke out on Mathieu's feminine face was the biggest one Jennifer had ever seen. Maybe it was because her job did not offer laughs and smiles, but the fact that the other was very pleased with her guess meant something.
"Oui!" Was his positive response but it soon ebbed away into confusion. "But...Who are you? What are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same thing."
"I told you my biggest secret," Canada said with a slight smile. "You could do me the same honour. Now, tell me, are you Jennifer Jareau of the BAU?"
The agent in question did not make indication that Canada's guess had indeed been correct but Canada knew he was right anyway. "You're here to find Alfred aren't you?"
"Yes."
"I wish you good luck." The endearment was murmured. "Especially with all your obstacles..."
"What?"
"Ehhhhh! Nothing!" Ahahaha...Say, what do you know so far about nations?"
She did not know herself. There had not been enough time and she really did not want to tell him what she 'knew'. What did she know anyway? Maybe she could possibly get something important out of him for her answer?
"Nothing." It was not a lie, nor was it the truth.
"So I guess we're all even eh? I don't know anything either."
Was he enough of a fool to lie to her? She did not know. "What? But you're–"
"–A nation, yes. But it doesn't exactly mean I know anything myself you know. We are...difficult people. We all speak different languages but all understand one another. We do not die – our bodies can survive fire, biological warfare, famine, drought and a bullet to the face. We are the embodiment of our people. We are the embodiment of our country. The land in which we own is what sculpts our human bodies. You have not felt pain until you have been invaded." The comment was uttered in a light tone but it darkly shown what he did not say. His lilac eyes glittered. "The pride of our people is important though, for pride is technically what keeps up going...And our government of course but that isn't the case for some. Even the oldest of us..."
Mathieu was silent for a moment before he sighed. "Even we cannot escape death though. It all comes at some point. We'll all eventually fall and collapse, whether this collapse be the collapse of our minds, our government or our country. Germania, Rome, Savoy, Holy Roman Empire, Ancient Greece, Golden Horde. All gone – or living on the presence of their children."
"...Why are you telling me all this? Why now of all times?"
Mathieu laughed – a quiet laugh that obviously has not seen much use. "I dunno really. Something says to me that you're helpful and trustworthy. Oh – and French. That might help too."
"Why?"
"Again, I dunno. But good luck in finding Al! He owes me forty bucks in his currency and I'll be damned if I let him disappear without paying it."
And then, with a wave, Canada and Hero were gone as quickly as they had arrived; leaving J.J trapped in the woods.
"...Son of a bitch!"
Spencer had climbed the stairs.
And he had hated every moment of it.
Eventually, though, he had made it to a wooden landing that of course – had seen better days. It looked eerie and odd and completely dangerous. Why did he come up here again?
Oh yeah – that feeling.
It still hadn't gone away.
The landing was slanted but thankfully was not long at all. It took only a few moments to race towards the end of the place and reach the door. But before he could reach the door, something fell onto his head.
He let out a involuntary shriek and immediately shoved it off – thinking it had been a grotesque spider that had been introduced to some sort of mutation but once his hand hit metal he knew he had been wrong. The set of keys that had fallen onto his head fell on the floor and skittered across the floor. He dove for them as they skittered towards a suspicious hole in the creaky floorboards.
Reid just caught them before they fell into a dark abyss of nothingness.
He sat up on his knees and inspected the keys in the dim light of the hallway. They weren't that big but there were about six keys. Two of them looked like they could be never used again, a third was fake and the other two he had no idea were for. Maybe they were for the attic door – He stopped.
Reid took another long look at the keys. There was something about these keys that were different. What was it? He jingled them in his long tapered fingers. These keys–
His mind flashed back to earlier. Japan had said...
That was impossible.
These couldn't be the keys.
But...
"I must warn you though – Time moves differently in this house. Sometimes, it is right on track. Sometimes, it is not. What may happen to one may never be experienced by another. Sometimes one thing will show up in one place when it has already been in the hands of others. Sayanora."
Maybe they were the keys.
Spencer was actually happy for time paradoxes for once.
He got up and brushed off his knees and walked carefully to the door. He tried each key once, the broken ones first and then the right ones. The fifth key fit snug and the door opened and Spencer found himself walking into a room that was fit for a child of six.
The walls were white and the ceiling was painted to look like the space. The carpet was an obnoxious green and was covered in stuff and barely seen. Two French doors were located at the back of the room and Alfred's bed lay snug in the corner. His bed was shaped like a hamburger – with a sesame seed bun cover, two pickle pillows, a a cheese under blanket, mustard and ketchup sheets, a hamburger mattress and a bottom bun box spring.
He knew though.
Spencer knew the moment that he had entered this room, via those mysterious keys that had oddly ended up in his hands, that the room was obviously just more than a room. It was a Room of Memories. It was a room of firsts, a room of lasts, a room of fights, a room of love. It was also a bedroom. It was the bedroom of the not so-mysterious Alfred F. Jones.
From the bed with its colourful design and half the blankets and sheets tumbling onto the floor as if purposely done to the floor that was covered in books and films and plans to even the walls that displayed multiple bands and games, it was not hard to tell that Alfred obviously spent very much time in this room. At least, he used to as now a fine layer of dust covered everything. Even the finely made oak French doors that were situated at the very back of room were covered with two colonial American flags seemed to be covered in dust.
The doors seemed to have a power to them for Reid found himself being drawn towards them with a feeling of overwhelming curiosity. They had begun to hum and were attempting to draw him in closer and closer, to have his long fingers wrap around their fine handles, and push open the doors to see what hides within. He took a few steps, hesitantly before stopping completely.
He could not.
Spencer refused to see what hid behind those two doors. Obviously, whatever it was, was very personal to Alfred. Is that what Japan had meant, that there really was such a thing within the room of lasts and firsts that would lead people to their end? Was this end, madness?
It was a room for nations. Humans had no right to trespass through its borders.
It seems to be, that with Alfred gone, everything that made the room a reality had disappeared as well. The windows were untouched, the carpet lay unseen and credits rolled on America's television, telling of who portrayed in the movie.
Spencer walked forward but stopped and swiftly turned around. The door slammed shut behind him and the desk that was neatly tucked into the corner of the room was revealed to him. How America could survive with such a small working place was beyond him but that truly did not matter. What did matter though, out of all, was the man sitting at the desk.
He knew this man. He had met this man before.
And he had known that he had never wanted to meet this man again.
"Ivan Braginsky." Spencer whispered. For a moment, he expected Russia to whip around and grin that mocking sadistic grin that he was far too well known by. But instead he only continued to sit at Alfred's desk, as if almost lost in memories and ignorant to Reid's presence. He had laid his arm down on Alfred's place of work and rested his head upon it. His eerie violet eyes were trained on something spinning. It was spinning fast and for a moment the agent did not realise that it was a spinning globe. Ivan was touching the globe; his long lithe fingers masked by the black leather gloves brushing against the spinning object.
Suddenly, Russia's fingers clenched and the world stopped spinning. He sat up, still hunched over and peered unseeingly at the globe before turning up to look at Reid with a dazed expression.
"I thought he had burned this."
Cold, eerie, the voice fitting for a psychotic murderer.
"Along with my flag." Russia's fingers fell from the country it had stopped upon.
"Сою́з Сове́тских Социалисти́ческих Респу́блик," Russia read solemnly.
The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics.
"The Soviet Union."
"Yes." The man answered and laid his head back down.
"Why are you here?" Reid made sure that his voice was strong and did not falter. He had to keep Ivan preoccupied. Maybe he could call in back-up–
"It shall not work. Your back-up would not survive the trip, as some may come to say. They would make it here, but they would see nothing. Alfred's house hides from the world and is only open to those who it wants. My silly little Alfred has always been paranoid, always he has been this way. He knows he cannot hide from me, even if his house wants to. I am a friend – whether Alfred wants to admit it or not."
Spencer froze for a moment, wondering how Russia had known of his plan to call for back-up. Perhaps nations were also gifted with the ability to mind-read? He was not sure, but this left him without a plan. He was without a plan and was in a room with a psychopath. This was not an excellent situation. "...What? Russia, what are you doing here?"
"I am visiting." He answered, voice calm. His eyes showed nothing.
"Visiting who?"
"The dead."
Spencer's lips felt oddly dry so he ran his tongue over them in an attempt to calm himself down. This was odd. This was very odd. But that was normal wasn't it? He was used to working in such odd situations. But nations? Humans that were the guardians of countries more or less? How many of them existed? Did this go for states as well? His mind ran wild with all the possibilities that a nations' existence could hold. How many people knew? Would they be murdered for their knowledge?
He thought back to when he was first reminded of all of this; when he was called into the office that one moment and before he was nearly murdered by the cynical Kirkland.
There was some silence before Rossi spoke again. The man leaned back in his chair and sighed. "I was visited by Ivan Braginsky last night."
"H-How did he get in the building?" Reid had met Ivan. And just to say, Ivan gave him the creeps.
"I personally don't know...But he did tell me something. Something that I'm still finding hard to believe. And I researched it all night last night. And I'm horribly afraid to say that what Braginsky told me was correct and if Braginsky does not get what he wants within the time limit then what he predicted will most indefinitely occur."
"What did he tell you?"
Rossi grimaced again. "Can you keep a secret, Reid?"
"Well, I can, but considering the severity of my job and the people I deal with; there is not telling what will happen if I am forced under extreme interrogation again so I suppose–"
"Can you was my question, Spencer."
"Oh yeah...Yes, I can."
"Good," The profiler leaned back in his chair and picked up a nearby file. "Now, Alfred F. Jones is no ordinary FBI agent. And nor has he ever been. From the records, it says that Alfred has been enrolled as a junior agent since 1900–"
"But that was over–"
"–Which leads to the fact that I have discovered that Alfred is not a regular human. Alfred F. Jones is the living embodiment, or the human personification of the United States of America."
Thinking about it, he was never told that what Ivan had wanted with America. Given the recent history between that of Russia and America, it is assumable that America had done something to invoke an inhuman rage within the Russian. He must of stolen something. But what? Government plans? Girlfriends? Boyfriends? Cooking recipes? His mind reeled with the possibilities. He looked to Russia and his vacant look at the globe, his free hand fingering the pale expanse of his neck that bore scars of an ancient time. That was odd, wasn't Russia normally wearing a sca–
Reid stopped, eyes widening. America wouldn't stoop that low would he?
Upon thinking of it, he realised that yes, America would stoop that low. Now, the United States of America was not a horrible country and in fact was still one of the better ones out there but who wouldn't want to get one up on an old enemy? Ivan was notorious for his scarf. Alfred saw an opportunity and took it.
Ivan sat up and leaned back in the chair. "And so in a moment of glory, the white Queen checkmates the Black King after the loss of his last pawn."
"Russia–"
"Ivan. I would rather prefer it if we kept it a human level."
"Well, er...Ivan. Did...America steal your scarf?"
There was no pause, no rolling of words or slow purring that Russia was so well known for. "Da."
"Is there any reason?"
"There is a reason for everything, da? But as far as I know – it was a joke, a harmless prank in attempts to get one over me. It went horribly awry though as most of his plans do. Why just look at his war with the Middle East! The fool never learns!"
He had to word this carefully, lest he end up with a stomach full of lead. "Did anyone else know that he had your scarf?"
"I can't say!" The Russian laughed. "No, I really can't. After finding that my precious scarf had been thieved away, I most likely drank whatever liquor I had left in my cabinet, destroyed my living room and probably went to Lithuania's house and trashed his as well. Wait," He lifted a gloved a finger in thought. "Maybe it was Estonia's? He never gets any love compared to my dear Latvia and Lithuania. Mmm...Wait, no. It was Poland's. And seeing as Moscow is still as it is, he did not invoke his Warsaw law...Or was it Serbia...Livonia? But Livonia's been dead for years..." Did Russia make a habit to visit all his previously occupied territories while drunk?
But, here was the kicker now. Ivan seemed to be in a good mood. Maybe he could get away with a bullet in the kneecap this time?
"Well, Rus- Ivan –"
"Aha! It was Bulgaria's house I trashed. I knew it was one of them. But yes, what is it Reid?"
Rephrase, does Russia make a habit of destroying his previously occupied territories' homes? "Um...Would...Would you...ever..."
"I know that your interaction with humans is impressively minimum but I would expect that you would be able to manage to speak complete sentences in this ah...what is it...this bastardised form of English that America has taught his children?"
Spencer breathed through his nose and sighed. Here it was. Now or ever.
"Would you ever send someone to hurt America for stealing your scarf?"
Once the sentence hit the air, Ivan's eyes darkened considerably and Reid knew that he just signed his own death warrant with his own soon to be split blood.
Ivan laughed. And laughed. And laughed. And laughed until Reid could hearing nothing but the maddening sound. His dark laughter invaded the air like a fragmented note split from a broken instrument. The sound of a broken violin strumming its last dying lines. It bounced off the walls and poisoned the air. Russia laughed and laughed until there was a sickening 'splat' and it cut off abruptly.
Spencer looked down and felt his breakfast make another ill-wanted appearance. An organ that could only be classified being a heart by its twisted valves and rampant veins and magenta-red colour had hit the floor. Ivan looked stunned and peered down, the mocking grin replaced only by a wide open mouth of surprise.
"It hasn't done that in awhile."
"Wh-What...?"
"This is my heart, Mr. Reid." Russia leaned down and carefully cupped the organ in his hands. "Lately, it has not...'made a scene' and has not fallen out. I suppose it is because I am in some sort of stage of healing, da...?" The last was more of muttered to himself but Spencer heard it anyway. "Oh well! Best to put it back where it belongs, yes?"
It would have been a lie if Spencer said that he had not watched Russia return the heart to its resting place. He watched it with a sick fascination of how Russia had brought the heart to his lips and bestowed the gentlest of kissings before brushing it off with a shiver that racked his entire being. He had then brought it to the obvious hole in the right half of his body that was shaped as one of those cartoon hearts. It was fascinating of how nations destroyed any thought of actual logic. There should not be a hole in his coat shaped as a heart, there should not even be a whole in his coat or body! Ivan's heart should stay in its body, attached to the various valves and pumping blood through the being to keep it functioning. It should not fall out. Ever.
But he wasn't given time to voice his obvious confusion and quell the amount of hysteria that was slowly building up in him because what else is expected from the fact that he's locked in a room with a belligerent fucking psychopath who defies physics and anatomy. Instead, he was faced with the reality that Ivan had stood up and had slammed him against a wall. A pin that was holding up a signed poster of The Beatles that read Live on Alfred dug uncomfortably into his back.
"You think I hurt Alfred?"
"No, I im–"
"Implication is the same as assumption. You assume, don't you? It makes an ass out of you and me doesn't it? You implied that I sent someone to hurt my precious now didn't you? Didn't you?"
The moment of madness and the squeezing of his arms that would most likely leave bruises left the agent speechless. His eyes were wide as he stared up into Ivan's who would only stared back with his darkened eyes and wild smile. It were the eyes that got him the most though.
His eyes. They were not blank like he had originally saw. Something pulled him towards those mauve twins set so deep in Ivan's face. They were like a whirlpool; spinning endlessly and dragging the tortured farther in. He could imagine what Ivan was seeing. His ill-attempt to make a pact with the moon, his rage over losing his precious scarf, the loss of an important person, the loss of his livelihood. He could see it all in Ivan's eyes. Then suddenly, they closed and Ivan sighed.
"I did not hurt America." He mumbled and stepped away. "I would not do such a thing to him. He is undeserving of it no matter what others says and how stupid he is."
"Then who–"
"Someone who thinks that their interference will spur my emotions more towards them."
This could only mean one thing. "Then...You know?"
His reply was uttered. "Unfortunately."
"Then, why don't you do something?"
When Ivan looked at him again, his gaze looked utterly tortured. "Because...I can't. I promised never to harm them! I can't...I can't!"
"So you would let your 'comrade in arms' be killed by this person?"
"Never." He whispered. "No matter how much I hate Alfred at times he does not deserve to be so mercilessly slaughtered by someone that is undeserving of such a thing. If he is to die, then he is to die by my or England's hands."
"Why England's?"
"He owes the both of us quite a lot. For obvious reasons as well. It would be fit death for a hero if he was killed by the very man he loved most. But that's under the implication that nations can be killed of course."
Spencer's eyes went wide. "You can't die?"
"When one implies immortality, they do mean it. We cannot die. We can contract cancer, get the plague, be shot in the temple at point-blank range with a sawed off shotgun. We will live. As long as our people will it, we will live."
"Then why are you worried for America if he can't die?"
Moments of silence before Russia mumbled the words. "Because he will break. He will break like the glass doll he is. He will tumble from his great height and hit the floor with such a emphasis that the whole world will shutter from its impact. His body will continue to heal itself after each assault as does Prometheus's each night after he is tore open by the eagle, but his mind will shatter if this goes on."
"But that doesn't make any sense." Spencer interjected. "You're nations. You're built to withstand stuff as this aren't you? War, torture, famine. Alfred should be fine, shouldn't he?"
"Silly human." Ivan responded. "One who does feel our pain is one who cannot understand it. Nations are human. They are human. We are our people aren't we? We are 'humans'. Only puppets in a cast. However, we break. I broke, Lithuania broke, France broke and England slowly as time catches up with him and the fact that he no longer is considered important in world affairs slowly gets to him. Though, we are all slowly making our way up the treacherous ravine we dove off of. Except for America. When America breaks at last and his masks shatters across the globe, he will not make the climb back up. Humans break and so do nations. And it's surprising that he has lasted this long anyway."
Reid's lips felt dry again. "And the unsub knows this all don't they? They know that America is unstable right now due to everything. They know that it won't take much to push him over that edge." With Ivan's blank look, he pressed on. "That means they're a nation too. They're doing this to...to...prove a point." His mind reeled and he thought of only moments ago. "They're doing this for you. They're doing this to prove themselves to you. They...They think that if they break America they will have essentially broken you! With the shattering of him, you will finally fall victim to whomever!" The thought hit home. "To get you, they need to destroy whatever is in their path. This...this is your fault!"
Something broke in Ivan's face. "I told them not too! I told them that they should mind their own business!"
"You know them! You can stop them!"
"I can't!"
"Yes you can!"
"Nyet!"
"You're Russia!"
"Nyet, nyet, nyet!"
"You can stop them! You can be the one that save Ameri–" Spencer's words were choked short as Ivan's hand wrapped around his throat and he leaned closer.
"I cannot save America." Ivan growled in a thick voice. "That is why I have employed the use of you and your comrades."
He raised his head in an attempt to talk clearly. "You're a...superpower...Who wouldn't...back down to you?"
Ivan did not answer. "Tell me, Reid," He said softly. "Do you have siblings?"
Spencer shook his head.
"Suppose you did. Suppose your sibling kidnapped probably the only person who never saw you for a monster. And suppose the only way to get this person back was to hurt your sibling. What would you do then? Would you hurt them and save the day or get someone else to do it?"
"I...I don't know."
"You're in my situation then. My promise with the moon has failed and I have been forced to bring in the others. I cannot bear to hurt my own sister, however mad she has become. I cannot bear to hurt the person who comforted me in the times of my own insanity. It hurts more because I cannot do the same. Being Nations are a bad thing sometimes. When your government is on bad terms with another, you cannot see that nation. Even if it is your sibling."
A crack in their seemingly perfect but maddening world.
Ivan dropped his fingers and stepped away.
"I knew I have picked the right one," He was saying suddenly. "You are just perfect. You are my catalyst, da? The final piece I need to castle my dear Alfred in. He is my King you know, and I am but a simple pawn that has outlived its golden stage."
Then with a wave, Russia was gone. He had disappeared so suddenly and quickly it was a wonder if he had even been there in the first place. Spencer closed his eyes and rubbed his throat. He ached.
But fuck, that had been a horrible experience. He really should have brought someone with him– His eyes widened. How long has he been here? What about the others?
He stumbled to his feet and began to rush out of the Room of Memories, feeling the dead scrape at his back. Spencer stumbled to the door and nearly fell, catching himself on the frame. Something cracked beneath his feet and he wondered if he had dropped his glasses before blinking and remembering that he didn't wear glasses. He bent down and reached into his back pocket to take out a glove before he picked up a now bent pair of glasses with one lens completely shattered and the other cracked. A note was taped to the side.
His heart stopped for a moment before he shook his head and ripped the note off. His eyes skimmed its tresses slightly before the real shock of it slowly set in.
There on the note was the familiar bleeding red ink and the thick graceful cursive of a foreign man.
"He cannot see. You must be his eyes. Guide him from the dark place in which he is kept."
Spencer had found the third clue.
{xxXX{IV}XXxx}
When she came to, she saw green.
It was the prettiest shade of green.
So bright, so colourful. So charismatic. But there was something darker to this green. As if it had seen the unseen horrors of the world and had lived to tell the world. This green was a survivor. It had lived through a dark past and had been trapped in a dark world at some point.
Then she realised they were eyes.
A nation's eyes.
He pulled away, smiling. His green eyes attempted to hide his dark past and brightened up at the sight of her. His thick hair was pulled back into a ponytail and he wore a velvet vest, shirt and dress pants.
"Oh good! You are awake!" He had an accent. She knew that accent. It was Baltic. Lithuanian.
"Emily? Emily, are you all right?"
The woman sat up, moving to rub her head when he recoiled at the movement. She looked down to her right hand to see it was wrapped tightly. Had she done something to it? Her memory was fuzzy. She can't seem to quite right remember what happened–
"You burned it." The stranger clarified, taking the bandaged hand gently and readjusting the clasp that kept the bandages in place. "I appeared right after you touched the wall. Do you know what happened?"
Wall? When did she make a habit of randomly touching walls? Where was she? Who was this man? To answer her unsaid questions, she turned to Hotchner. "What happened, Hotch? Did...I pass out?"
For a moment, his face looked grim. Didn't it always? Her memory was fuzzy. "You don't remember?"
"A...little. We're here for...special people? They- They're...countries?"
"Nations, yes. But which one in specifics?"
"I can – I can't rem- America." She cut off so suddenly, the name suddenly slipping into her sentence. "We're here for America. Alfred. Mr. Jones...We're here for him."
"Your name is Emily, yes?" The man asked and she nodded silently. "My name is Toris. I'm an old friend of Alfred's. You're here for evidence of his disappearance aren't you? You see – Mr. Hotchner, would you like me to explain what happened?"
"It would be nice, yes."
"Well all right." The man nodded and smiled again. "You see Emily. You went back in time."
"That's impossible."
"Some people disagree, I know. But can you listen to me for a moment? You know what Quantum physics are right? And how the general theory revolves around the general idea that yes, it might be possible to be in two places at the same time? To vibrate while not vibrating at the same time? This somewhat involves this. You went back almost thirty-forty years ago while you also stayed here. You mimicked the same actions of whatever you did back then."
She flushed. That had to have been embarrassing.
"Well...For some reason...It happened. I... do not know why."
Emily frowned. "Why is my hand burnt then?"
"Well...What I'm guessing is that when you separated the link when you were in the past you created some sort of...intense friction. It burnt your hand. And since you weren't some sort of astral projection and it was you, you brought your burnt hand back to the future. Of course, this kinda goes against the idea of Quantum Physics as well though but it's the general idea of it all...Do you remember anything?"
She wanted to answer positively. She wanted to remember. She had just experienced something no one else had experienced. But her mind was so fuzzy; so unclear. She thought and thought; biting her lip in concentration. Something, something about the Cold War. Two men in arms? A secret hidden behind locked doors. Russia...It involves Russia. And America. Something about them fighting–
She stopped.
Fighting.
They had been fighting.
Cold War tensions. A hidden agenda.
There was a buzz in her ear – static. It was as if something was slowly making its way back to her. She wanted to yell in frustration. War, war, something hidden! Nuclear warefare? No, it was something. Someone. Smash, smash, whee! Ahahah –
"You aren't worth my time."
"Oh really? I seem to have been for the last thirty years. Isn't that right?"
She gasped. Memories were floating back to her; slamming so violently into her memory banks once more that she could have screamed in pain. But she didn't. She bared with it, knowing that it would be worth it in the end.
"–Bastard! Tony didn't do anything!–"
"–And who is to say that I cannot have him? I always, normally, get what I want. You have learned this yes?–"
"–I bet you like this. You like to feel pain, to feel violated by others? The Revolutionary War, lapuska. I bet you just love this–"
"–You know, when I suspected to have a Russian speak dirty to me – I at least expect them to be a woman!–"
Emily remembered now. She remembered it all now. The sneers, the growls and the ever sickening smiles. America's laughter rang sickeningly in her ears. But however, one thing really stuck to her. She could not forget it. She would not forget for some reason. It would haunt her for a long time.
"And who is to say that I cannot have him? I always, normally, get what I want. You have learned this yes?"
There was dead silence. It seemed that Emily had uttered those damned words aloud. Toris seemed to mumble something in his own language and laughed. But it was fake laughter. He seemed a natural at doing such a thing; laughing so falsely as he did at that moment. She saw more insight into this Baltic man's life. It looked bleak.
"That sounds so like...so like...so like–"
"Russia?"
"Y-yes."
"Who are you?"
Toris laughed falsely again and Emily glared. "I'm Tor–"
"You're a nation."
Toris went silent. He dropped his head.
"You're Lithuania aren't you?"
Toris was still silent but it was not soon after Emily had muttered that that Toris lifted up his head and laughed awkwardly. "You're a smart one aren't you?" He laughed. "I should have been a bit more careful. To be honest, you were never even supposed to meet me."
"Then why are you here?"
"This house plays tricks." Lithuania answered simply. "I've learned to deal with it but however, there are some instances were even I get caught up in it..." The man sighed sadly. "I was supposed to stay in the background but the house made it that I was walking in on your accident instead of walking into the kitchen. Truly, it wanted us to meet. For what reason I'm sure I'll never know!"
Emily pondered this. "Do...Do you know why the house is like this?"
"I really have no idea." Toris answered honestly. "Some of the others says it was England and his settlers that caused this. Their magic and voodoo or something. But I really just think that the house is just the way it is because it wants to be. Some things are just better off left unanswered, don't you agree?"
The agent found that she couldn't agree more.
"Mr. Lithuania," Hotchner suddenly voiced and the Baltic turned with a curious look. "Do you work for Russia?"
The expression on Lithuania's face froze in its motion before dwindling down into a look of sheer terror. Those bright green eyes shrunk and he laughed awkwardly. The man was attempting to hide something. Something terrible.
"Of course not! I'm here to help find America!"
A half-lie. He was here for more. He was here to help Russia.
"Really? Then why do your body movements say something else?"
"T-They do?" Toris tried laughing off the idea but it failed.
"They say you're lying."
"That's just preposterous–"
Slam, slam, creeeeeeeeeeeak!, Slam, Slam! Creeeeeeeeeeeak!
They all jumped – Lithuania giving a small squeak as well – as Derek finally made it into the landing after climbing the treacherous stairs. He looked slightly worse for wear.
It took a moment, but he finally spoke.
"It's Russia. He's been caught. He's at the B.A.U.!"
{xxXX{IV}XXxx}
As soon as they all got back to Headquarters, Rossi immediately took off to see if the rumours were true. They were. Russia was there. He was sitting calmly in one of the interrogation rooms. They told Rossi that they were given orders to not search Russia. After being nearly talked out of it by Hotchner, Rossi went into the room and had a stare down with Russia.
Russia won of course.
"What is Alfred to you? Is he a toy? Is he a small child that you wish to destroy? What is your relationship with your former rival?"
Russia only answered with a cryptic message. "Alfred is nothing but everything. The small promise that had been exchanged in the dark is the only reason that I live. When the long night ends though, there's nothing behind me. There's only a large ocean between us and a cliff that we still both teeter over."
"Do you enjoy speaking in tongues?"
"I do it when I can. But there are often not many people to visit me in my lonely home. Some people just do not want to visit the heart of Russia!"
"Moscow?"
Russia laughed. "Moscow was the heart a very long time ago. Now it only serves as my lungs to allow me to breathe my so-called freedom. I live in Perm. Perm is the true heart of Russia, even though Saint Petersberg comes a very close second in my book."
David narrowed his eyes. The nation was playing with him. Russia's hands twitched with the anticipation into making him a living, breathing marionette at last. "What's your game Russia?"
"Hockey. Though I do prefer Figure-skating from time to time." David resisted the urge to backhand the nation and pushed the disturbing image of the grown man in spandex from his mind.
"You're up to something."
"You know, America said those exact same words to me many a decade ago, though I'm having trouble recalling it. I think it was either the situation when I had him pinned in a back alleyway or when his gun was inspecting if my gag reflex was up to par."
Rossi felt like a vein was going to burst. "You.."
"Me..."
He slapped his forehead. This was getting them nowhere.
Two hours later, did Russia finally say something of value.
"You're my only hope."
The words uttered so carefully almost went unheard. Russia seemed to have muttered them unconsciously. When Rossi lifted his bent head and stared wide-eyed at the nation, the other finally seemed to realise that he had muttered something he was not supposed to.
"We're your what?"
"Last hope." He muttered again before speaking louder. "I have never liked the interference of humans–"
"None of the nations do apparently."
"Well that's understandable." Russia answered and leaned back in his chair. He looked even more human than before with his wide purple eyes and childish smile. "But it is mostly because they have what we want. Humanity is what most nations strive for. That's why we take on the characteristics of our people – to get as human as we possibly can before we are stopped by the metre long wall that separates us. But listen here, da? I need you to do what I cannot not. I understand now that you are really not regular 'agents' or people of the 'law'. But you are the most intelligent."
He was liking where this was going. "Go on."
"You have all discovered that I play a very big part in this. A very big part, yes? You have discovered that I am more than a mindless killing machine and possess feelings of some magnitude for a person I once claimed to hate quite so. I still hate the man, but I now begun to understand him as our governments grow closer. But now he is threatened by someone most dearest to me. While I cannot touch her, you can. You can sneak in and take my Alfred away from...her and I will...deal with the consequences." He was barely able to conceal his shutter of fright.
"You want us to do the dirty work?" Rossi summed up and Ivan nodded slightly to show that he was indeed correct in his assumption. "You want us to send armed forces into some undisclosed location to save some superpower because you can simply not harm the person doing it? You wish to risk the lives of others to save someone who can most likely save themselves? This Alfred you describe seems capable of being able to handle himself! As biased as this sounds, you are a nation. You should be able to handle another nation. You do not need human interference."
"It...It's not like that." Russia mumbled, eyes wide with turmoil. "I do not wish to see anyone get hurt but–"
"But what? Mother Russia can't handle his sister?"
"She's–"
"Mad? Insane?"
"No, she's simply confused–"
"So confused that she would kidnap someone for you?"
"I didn't ask her too!"
"Oh really!"
"Da!"
"I don't believe you. Come on, Braginsky. We know that Cold War tensions still run high – especially with America's bouncing economy." Rossi would be lying if he said he wasn't having fun antagonizing the largest nation in the world. "You were given a final chance to destroy the enemy, a chance you were stripped of on December 30th, 1991. You could have brought the world to its knees with the destruction of the United States of Ameri–"
There was a large screech as Russia's chair flew back and he stood up slamming his hands on the table. He swore violently in his mother tongue, his head bobbing with the action before he silenced himself and grabbed Rossi's shirt with his fist and dragged him halfway over the table. They seemed to end up in this position quite often.
"You do not understand." Russia emphasised. "You will never understand, as you are human. Humans cannot understand the pain of a nation as nations cannot really understand the pain of a lone human. You have not felt pain until you've been invaded. Point, I need you all to save Alfred. Before he shatters and breaks like a glass doll thrown into a blazing flame. Do not make me think I have made the wrong choice in picking you."
"Where is he then?" Rossi asked calmly. He seemed to be completely at ease with the fact that he has slowly drowning in Ivan's angered gaze. "If you want us to save your pwecious Alfwed, then where he is? We don't go hunting the dead after all."
Ivan smiled and realised him from his grip. And Rossi immediately knew that this smile was different than all the others. It was a jokers grin, etched perfectly onto his alabaster skin but it did not reach his eyes. A lone snaggletooth could be seen slightly but it was not noticeable. It was the smile of a nation and its message was clear. I can't take a step forward. You must be my Knights, yes?
"It's simple. You have already been there. You are familiar with the Room of Memories, da?"
That time, Rossi did backhand Russia across the face.
The sickening sound echoed across the room. Rossi felt stunned for doing it. Had he...Had he just completely lost all rational reasoning and his demeanour? Did he just slap a nation across the face? One with nuclear arms as well? Well fuck, this wasn't good.
"Did you...just slap me comrade?" Ivan asked, as stunned as Rossi as well. Nimble fingers reached up to touch the pink spot and they danced slightly on the spot. Then, before his very eyes, Ivan closed his eyes and the pink spot faded away from sight. "How strange. I would have never seen in you to have slapped a person before. Even if they are being exceptionally restless."
Rossi stepped back. "I'm sorry...But we have better things to talk about. The Room of Memories. What do you mean?"
"The Room of Memories is Alfred's most sacred place. What better way is there to break someone? Ripping all of their safeties away. He's being destroyed in the place he's loved most. Besides," Ivan rolled his eyes, "do you think that they would have made it out of Alfred's house alive?"
"...I don't know."
"As odd enough as this is to say, the house likes it. It has not had human touch in a very long time. Not since Alfred was back in his colonial days. It is very pleased to see that America's people are going to save him when it cannot."
"What, is it a robotic house or something?"
"More like a persona." Russia shrugged. "I do not know myself. It is the first house I have ever see do such a thing like that on its own. Even China, the eldest of us all that has not been replaced, has never seen such a thing occur. He blames it on the fact that America is young and spirited and carries oddity wherever he roams. I, myself, think it is just some wondering ghost that took some liking to Alfred and haunted his home. Not that we'd ever tell him that of course."
Rossi raised an eyebrow, thinking back to all those horror films that Alfred had used to build a fort in his living room. A large percentage of them had been about ghosts. "Don't tell me...He's afraid of ghosts?"
"Da! Silly isn't it? I was very amused to find that out myself but I have promised to keep it a secret as he has promised to keep my secret secret as well."
Rossi was about to question about that but Ivan sighed. "We're off track. You must find Alfred before it is too late. And it will be too late much sooner than you would think."
"But...Where are we going to find America?"
Ivan smiled again but it was much calmer. "Ask Mr. Reid. He has visited the Room of Memories and lived to tell the tale. The dead will point him towards the direction you need to go."
"That still doesn't give me much to go on –"
"Do not worry." Ivan answered. "You will be fine once you wake up."
"That doesn't make sen–"
When the meaning of the nation's words finally hit, Ivan already had his pipe out and was swinging at his face. The last thing he saw was what he was damned sure was the spreading of a pure, maddening grin over the Russian's face.
"Спокойной Ночи, my bishop. Kolkolkol."
{xxXX{IV}XXxx}
Rossi woke to the fact that Russia had escaped and in his wake, had left a note. Obviously, this was the fourth clue into finding where ever this mysterious female sibling of Russia had hidden the superpower of the United States of America.
"You are my pieces and we need to band together. I am but a pawn that has outlived its use. Follow me to the Fool's Palace and pay one last trip to the Last Room. Our adventure ends there and hopefully in checkmate. Удачи!"
"Fool's Palace?"
"Mr. Jones' house." Rossi answered, holding an icepack to the place where Russia had hit him spot on. "He wants us to go back to the house. I don't see why he couldn't have told us in the first place though."
"Why though?" Emily asked. She was still wary about the antsy Lithuanian. "We found nothing there but those glasses and that Russia had been hiding out there!"
"Because he said it was in the Room of Memories." The agent answered roughly. "He said something about that the best way to break someone is to do it in a place where they're most safe. According to just about everyone, this happens to be the Room of Memories."
Spencer frowned. "That's not possible. I was in there and even though the place is trashed, there isn't any sign of human life there. Even the doors in the back looked untouched."
"Doors?" Emily asked and turned to Jennifer. "Did he have a balcony?"
"None that I saw of."
Spencer pursed his lips. "That could mean...Well, we were told that the house worked in odd ways. Do you think those doors led somewhere other than some closet?"
"Russia mentioned something about Alfred's house in Virginia being the only house that has ever showed behaviours like this." Rossi answered. "Alfred is in the Room of Memories. Just in an off-part that's somewhere else in the hous–"
"The door!" Emily interrupted and turned to Aaron. "That steel door! That has to be where he's kept!"
"Steel door?" Rossi echoed.
"On the second floor," Emily explained. "It's in the report. It looked heavily barred. And there's several bullet holes, fire burns, stabbing wounds...The door is impenetrable."
"It would take hours to break down." Aaron explained. "And it would make noise. Unfortunately, a lot of noise. It would be in our better interest to go through those doors Reid spoke about. Were they locked Reid?"
"Um, not from what I could tell really. But I do have the set of keys still. I bagged them for evidence. Strangely enough, I still don't know how they came into my possession...Falling from the ceiling and all..."
Rossi sat up and removed the icepack from his bruising face. "This means only one thing then. A roadtrip back to the place of morons. You know something? I see you guys all too often. After this, I'm going on a damned vacation."
{xxXX{IV}XXxx}
The hour was up and they were back at the house. The doors opened at their slightest touch. Derek led the team inside while Rossi lingered back to whisper his commands to the forces he had been supplied with – Don't go inside, - need permission- wait for my order – before making his own way back into the house.
This time however – the house seemed forlorn. As if it was wallowing in a state of blank darkness. But he didn't linger long on the first floor before he crossed over to the rickety stairways and manoeuvred his way to the top. He caught up with the rest of his team at the top.
"Reid, do you have the keys?" The agent nodded and moved to hand them over but Rossi stopped him. "No. They were given to you for a reason. Which key is which?" The young man nodded and pulled them out of his pocket.
He didn't say anything as he stepped forward and unlocked the room with one of the keys. Ducking his head under the now drooping door-frame, the genius stepped into the room which had fallen into an even worse state of decay. The colourful colours had lost their shine and dust was everywhere. Except for the back of the room where the two French doors were swung wide open.
Reid stopped before them and expected to turn around and see Russia sitting in the desk at the corner. He did so and Russia wasn't there. He faced the wide open doors again.
He had only been here hours ago but it felt much longer – much, much longer. The room seemed to be fading into the dead colours of black and white as all life seemed to drain from it. Truly, it was disturbing to see such a sight.
And even more so disturbing to know that that room would die without their help. If they didn't save Alfred, didn't stop him from taking a graceful swan-dive over and into the ravine Ivan spoke so hopelessly about then all would be lost. The house and all its treasures would fade into nothingness and the world would cease to go on. Alfred would gone and America would only be hollow.
He doesn't want to think of the consequences if they do not make it in time. He knew that the results would be disastrous. The world would shutter at their mistake. And Ivan's promises of their own downfall would surely be made a possibility.
A hand fell on his shoulder and he turned to see Jennifer. She smiled knowingly at him and then her face faded back into a façade of seriousness. "Is this it?" The curiosity can't be withheld from her voice.
"Yes. This..." Reid fumbled for his words for a moment. Would it be considered the discovery of Alfred's most precious memories or simply just the discovery of the Room of Memories? "This...is the Room of Memories."
"If he's been down here the whole time, then why were we warned to stay away from this place?" Derek asked.
"Maybe they never knew." Emily offered.
"No, they knew." Reid answered. "They just didn't want Alfred to be saved."
There was silence but Rossi broke it quickly with the slight tap of his shoes as he made his own way to the front. The man turned to look at his team and nodded.
"Prepare yourselves." He warned. "Because I have no idea what we're getting ourselves into."
And so they opened the doors before them.
The French doors swung open wide, revealing a set of stone steps before them that plunged deep into the earth like a stairway to Hell. The walls beside them were lined with black candles that flickered weakly.
"This has to defy something." Reid muttered. "The possibility of such candles and such a staircase actually coexisting as this are impossible and if it even leads to that hidden room–" The genius was giving himself a headache.
"Let's just go." Derek drew his gun and started his way down the steps first. Not long after, the rest followed with a grim determination.
The stairs stretched on forever. It was as if it was mocking them. The farther they walked, the farther the steps went. The farther they went, the narrower the stairs got. The team walked on for what felt like eternity.
This had to be the punishment for the damned. This had to be. For what else creature should be submitted to such a torture other than this? To forever walk down these stairs thinking that you will one day reach the end. You never will. There is no end to these stairs. These stairs would be their end for they could not stop. Their feet would never stop moving down the stairs. They would walk on forever wouldn't they? Like a poor imitation of Sisyphus and his boulder.
The final test of the house and they were failing it. Failing it terribly in their pursuit to save a man whose very being was the cause for all their troubles.
Then before they realised it, the stairs grew smaller, narrower as they walked further down into the earth until only person could be in front at a time. This took a long time but they kept on walking even though their legs ached. Why were they doing this? Why? Was their combined desire to catch this maddened nation that strong?
"Look at the walls!" Jennifer whispered, gasping at what she saw scrawled all over the walls. Black, thick and angry writing covered the wall as they descended further into the depths of the world. Words so angry, so vile, so destructive covered the stone walls. Had it been there before? There was no time to go back and check. They were in crucial time.
I hate Arthur I hate Arthur I hate Arthur, Into my web said the spider to the fly. WHY CAN'T ANYTHING GO MY WAY
I HATE ARTHUR I HATE ARTHUR I HATE ARTHUR My boy became hardy and booooold, His spirit was buoyant and freeeeeee; And, as I grew thoughtful and old, Was loud and oppressive to meeeeeeee.
SavE me pleASE.
Why can't we all get along–
why is madness so delicious
Something slender comes this way
Russia is a tool russia is a tool russia is a tool why cant people love me for me why am I so hated why am I so hated why am I so hated
Oh god why can't anything go my way? That didn't need to happen. Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god. I can't breathe.
WHY AM I NOT THE HERO.
Save me
save me
save me
save me
save me
save me
save me
I just want everything to go back to normal
Fuck I want a burger.
"I can't tell where any of this is from." Emily said. "It looks too recent and too old to really tell. But it sounds angry all together."
"Do you think America wrote this?" Aaron asked, peering at the walls as they descended further. The bottom was nearing. Soon the final moment would arrive and they would have to be prepared.
"Without a doubt." Rossi answered. "Without a doubt, all of this we're in right now is probably a result of Alfred's own twisted imagination as his situation grows worse."
"We better hurry then."
"Well, obviously."
They increased their pace and soon their efforts paid off as they reached the end of what seemed to be the never ending staircase. They came to what appeared to be a large stone hallway with bricked walls and a floor covered in a soft velvet material. Torches lined the walls. Three doors came to their attention. One in the front, and one to the left and right of them.
"Time to split up I guess." Reid offered.
"But we don't know where they'll lead." Derek reminded. "They might lead us somewhere that won't be beneficial."
"The house has helped us this far hasn't it?"
"Derek and Emily you take the one to the left. Jennifer and Hotchner to the right. Reid, we're going straight. If any of you reach the surface with your door, make sure you call for back up got it?"
The team nodded. "Then all right. It's time to get this crap over with."
David stormed into the room, his gun drawn and was met with an all too familiar face. Russia turned and raised his hands with a smiling face.
"Zdrastvooyte," Russia greeted. "I see you have followed my hints yes?"
"Russia, put your hands on your hand and turn the fuck around."
"Oh my, so pushy aren't you Mr. Agent?" Russia teased. "Quite, fine. I shall put my hands on my head and we shall pretend that you will handcuff me and take me away like the bad man I am. Though truly, you must not get out much because when others tell me that they're going to handcuff me they're normally wearing leather and wielding a whip..."
"I'm giving you to the count of three, Ivan!"
"Oh? Are we playing a counting game! I want to start! Odin, Dva, Tri, Cheytire, Pyat–!"
The agent's patience was lost. Before the situation could differ and Russia could dodge, Rossi shot at Russia. He didn't care that he had shot a nation; he did not care if he had just fired a killing bullet. The nation stumbled, falling backwards and slipping down the wall. His face seem to twist in pain and he clutched his left shoulder. The man laughed quietly.
"You missed my lung comrade." Ivan whispered in a demented voice. It seemed to slither over the walls like ice. "Were you aiming to kill or were you only trying to get me to shut up?"
"Either works," was his only answer. Reid shifted slightly.
"I see now that you are not one for games." Russia mumbled, his voice growing weaker. The bullet seemed to take some sort of effect. "My mistake. I always make the assumption that everyone is the same as me. My...bad."
"That's wonderful. Now, where is your sister?"
Russia's face tightened. "I...Don't know. I just arrived. I don't know where she is!" The edge of hysteria present in Russia's voice was nothing to be taken lightly. He was trying to hide something. "She's not here! She's not here!"
"That's a lie and we both know it Russia."
"Please, please, you have to understand!" He sounded terrible. So weak. Such a proud man torn back down to the bottom from which he had climbed up from so many times. A true monster in the shell of a human body. "You must listen to me! It...It isn't her! It isn't the right one!"
"Not your sister?" Rossi muttered. "Do you mean that it's someone else? Someone more dangerous? Braginsky–"
Russia seemed to not hear him. Instead, he struggled to his knees and let out a painful wail. For a moment, it looked as if he was crying. A grown man. Crying. A nation at that as well.
An utter paradox seemed to be unfolding before them all.
Russia was then talking; gibbering in his native tongue. His violet eyes were so wide and terrified. They roamed around the room as if looking for the invisible shadows that was stalking him. Reid seemed to lose some of the grip on his gun but quickly fixed it.
There was a slam nearby and Russia turned so quickly that it was impossible to think that he had only been injured moments before. His coat was still stained with blood.
He backed up and was mumbling in his quick Russian. Rossi wished Emily to be for here for translation but soon realised that whatever Ivan was whispering was not meant to be here.
He hit the wall and slumped again. The whispering stopped.
"At last..." Ivan grinned with a hoarse voice. "The promise to my moon as been filled."
And then, out from the door Ivan had just backed away from, came Alfred with the most terrified look he had ever had on his face.
AN:
Don't even say a word.
Because yes, I realise this is horrible and terrible and whatnot. Yeah, the tidbit about Quantum Physics in there is kinda bs but I really do love physics (EventhoughI'mterribleatmathOTL) but I'm going to finish it anyhow because I bloody well can. It's my last fic guys. TheEvilMuffinToaster is hanging up her apron after this.
Love you all~