Hiya, Hikou no Kokoro is back again, bring you the first real chapter! The plot doesn't quite start rising, but it gives off implications. This fic will take a while set up, due to its large cast and more complex situations and settings. So bear with me; this will certainly heat up soon!

Well, enjoy! I hope you like this!

Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers: Hetalia. I'm merely using Himayura Hidekaz's characters for this AU plot.

To Create Perfection

"Science does not know its debt to imagination."
—Ralph Waldo Emerson

"Law 1: God Save the People, Part 1"

Francis Bonnefoy was having a bad day. A very, very bad day. Outside was bright and shining, as if somebody had painted the weather, or the weather had decided to look like a painting. The sun was out, a nice breeze blew through, and a few clouds speckled the sky to keep things interesting. Almost everyone was out and about, doing whatever he or she pleased, so the streets were bustling with life and happiness. Francis would have loved to share the experience with everybody. He was a man of complete adoration, and he absolutely adored people. If the weather hadn't already persuaded him that the day was going to be great, then the amount of people he could talk to certainly would. He wanted to meet all the amazing people, and possibly flirt with a pretty lady or gentleman to make the lucky person's day a bit more enjoyable than it was a few minutes before. But, no, he was stuck inside, doing paperwork, God's choice torture weapon.

Now, this man was a horrid procrastinator. He loved people too much, living only to interact. To him, there was no other purpose in life other than to meet and to talk. This attitude had naturally seeped into his work ethic. Paperwork was unimportant, and he wanted to avoid it as much as possible. But what was so wrong with that? Who wouldn't do the same? At a fundamental level, Francis was like a normal person. But normal people didn't have his problem. Generally, they would work anyway due to a sense of duty and responsibility. They would wait for the last minute, when the deadline loomed over their heads, and then finish anything they hadn't done. But not Francis. Even when the deadlines were holding knives to his neck, he would still lean back, smile, and shrug them off. In fact, he would often continue to procrastinate when his projects were far overdue. Although his slave-driver superior could be threatening his very life, he would still dawdle, smiling and enjoying the "conversation." That was the type of man he was.

So it wasn't surprising that Francis had waited until his papers were twelve hours overdue before even looking at them. Normally nobody would be bothered by that. After all, his main contribution to the facility was to wander around and help others complete their work, not write reports about his own. Unfortunately, this wasn't the case. Francis knew that right from the beginning. Used to maybe one or two packets to review per project, Francis was shocked when he saw papers stacked high above his head on the desk and the floor. Immediately he had known the gravity of the subject. These "projects" happened every two years ever since he became a full employee. He was to take an intern under his wing, teaching him or her everything there was to know about his or her new job. It was a very important job, especially since mentors were a dying species in the workplace, and everyone expected perfection. Truthfully, he never really minded that. He was forever a lover of people, and these projects always brought joy to his heart, promising constant company. However, joy had strings attached; an unbearable amount of paperwork had barrelled its way into Francis' life. And like always, Francis had pushed it to the backseat.

If he had just started the paperwork earlier, instead of running off to flirt, he wouldn't be stuck indoors, gazing out the window. However, when he got the papers four months ago, which was two times longer than usual due to the early graduation of his previous apprentice and the unusual genius of his recently assigned one, he had a dreadful case of indolence. So he simply did not do anything. He didn't care if he would piss off more people than he could handle. They would be much more exciting than sitting around doing paperwork all day.

Then there was a knock.

"Shit!" Francis hissed. He immediately knew that he was in trouble. Could it be Ludwig? Probably was. Nobody would disturb Francis except for an outraged German. And if it was Ludwig, that meant that Francis was dead, and that meant he needed to hide. Although he much preferred being yelled at than doing work, he wasn't stupid. He didn't like getting metaphorically ripped to shreds; he merely preferred it over some other form of torture.

Should he hide underneath his desk? Or would it be better to duck behind the chair in the corner? Maybe it would be better to dive in his recycling bin and cower under the ungodly amount of papers. Well, wherever the best hiding place was, he needed to find it. Quick. So Francis shot out of his chair. His shoulder hit a stack of papers. The pile tipped. And the desperate man tried to stop it. But his other shoulder knocked down another stack. And two piles crashed to the ground with a flutter.

Francis groaned, inwardly crying. Great. There went his plan of escape. Now whoever was outside the door knew that he was in the office. No use in hiding. He gulped and sighed, praying to any old man in the sky. Last day of living and he had spent his time sitting behind a desk doing paperwork. What a horrible life.

"One moment," Francis called, straightening his white lab coat. He looked down at himself. He was wearing hospital scrubs and sneakers underneath. Nothing fancy; he couldn't quite say that he looked good in his uniform, save for his silky hair tied in a quaint blue bow. But still, it wasn't something anyone would want to be wearing when he died. So he was going to his grave looking ugly? Beautiful. Just what he wanted. At least he could make himself look half-way decent in this unattractive clothing.

Hoping that Ludwig wouldn't be cracking the whip any time soon, the man strode up to the door and opened it.

Two giant weasels greeted him.

Wait, were those weasels? Or were they obese caterpillars? Blinking, Francis stumbled back. To his relief, the two "weasels" were actually a pair of large, black eyebrows of a person, who, thankfully, was not Ludwig. But the person was just as disconcerting. In fact, Francis wouldn't really say that he was actually one whole person, but more like a compilation of every horrible feature imaginable: glowering eyes the colour of algae-infested ponds; messy hair resembling straw shaped into something like a failed bird's nest; and a frown carved into the face, like an eroded part of a peach-coloured stone. To top it all off, he wore a suit and tie in a desperate attempt to look decent, but the only success was looking more like a penguin-gone-wrong. What an unpleasant-looking man.

Francis leant against the doorway and said the first thing that came to mind: "You know, if you want to look good to somebody, you should do something with those horrifying eyebrows."

The man recoiled. His oversized eyebrows inched together like two ferrets kissing. "What?"

"Those eyebrows. They look more like pets than facial features. What, do you feed them three times a day?"

The suit-wearing man sputtered; his mouth flapped open and close; the once-glaring eyes widened. It was a perfect picture of shock. Then the eyes narrowed; his mouth pressed into a thin line; he growled. It had turned into a perfect picture of outrage. "Are you disrespecting me?"

Francis held his hands up in the air, surrendering. "Oh, no, sir. I'm merely criticising."

"About my eyebrows?"

"Most certainly. You look unpleasant, but those eyebrows simply make your image more atrocious."

The man grabbed Francis' collar, showing his teeth and breathing into Francis' face. God, what did he put in his mouth? His teeth looked more wolf-like than human, and his breath was as bad as sulphur's. "I should rip your pencil-drawn eyebrows off your face!"

Francis chuckled. His own perfect eyebrow arched. "I'm sorry, mon ami. But these are not pencil-drawn. I may be a brilliant artist, but even I cannot draw such life-like hair that even acts and feels like the real thing."

"You piss me off so much!"

"The feeling is mutual."

The stranger snarled. The hand gripping Francis' collar was trembling, curling around the cloth. Finally, with a thin sigh through a small hole between the lips, the outraged male let go of the other, leaving Francis' blue scrubs crinkled. Then he sighed again through his nose. The thin line of his lips loosened, and the coat of his suit was straightened. A peachy hand ran through straw-like hair, ruining the bird nest appearance and replacing it with a beaver dam one. "I apologise for my rudeness. I should have not lost control of myself." His voice vibrated through gritted teeth. "I am Arthur Kirkland, your new subordinate." He held out the hand that went through his hair. His pointer and middle fingers were twitching.

Francis opened his mouth to say something, but he chose against it. Instead, he decided to spare the poor man from further humiliation, smiled, hesitantly took the offered hand, and said, "I see. Then you know me?"

"Yes, Mr. Bun-foy."

"Bonnefoy," Francis corrected with a smile, "Francis Bonnefoy. But, call me Francis instead."

Arthur coughed. "Of course, Mr. Bonnefoy."

"Artie."

Arthur's lips pressed together into a thin line again. "Anyway, Mr. Bonnefoy, I am sure that you were surprised by my day-early visit."

"Of course I was. Anybody would be when they were randomly greeted by your pet eyebrows."

Arthur's mouth twitched. "But I am here to possibly start on any projects for my apprenticeship. It would be nice if you were to give me any documents that I should receive, and I will be on my way."

This time, it was Francis' smile that twitched. "Ah, paperwork." He turned his head, peering into his office with his hand gripping on the side of the doorway. The room was the same as it was a mere few minutes ago. Papers were scattered across the floor, and those that weren't loomed in stacks upon the desk and the floor. Some had been tossed into the yellow recycling bin and his tiny trash bin, which were pushed off to the side to be thrown out later. Francis pressed his lips together. There was no way that he was going to go search for whatever packet he was supposed to give to Arthur. Not only would Francis have to do even more work, but he would also be shoving a mental torture to this poor, unfortunate soul. Francis couldn't do that to the child.

Francis turned back around, smiling and placing his hands on Arthur's shoulder, and spun the other away from his office. "Unfortunately, I do not have these 'papers' that you mentioned."

"But the lady in the office said you did—"

"Then it must be in my mailbox," Francis laughed. He draped an arm over Arthur's shoulder and closed the office door behind him. That way, the other wouldn't know what a mess Francis was in. "Let's go together. As an added bonus, I'll give you a personal tour around BCWD." He winked.

Arthur pushed him away. "Don't even try." The annoyed male threw Francis' arm off. But the arm only returned.

"I insist! It'll be fun. If you want to work here, it would be a good idea to have a taste of the lab's layout or else you'll get lost."

With that, Francis led Arthur down the hallway, away from the office, away from the paperwork, and away from their responsibilities. Arthur wasn't happy with the situation, but he didn't have a choice. Francis chose by his own preference. It was a lot more fun wandering around together anyway. But even tours have a certain degree of dullness to them.

The two had walked through various corridors, going farther and farther from the office. Francis had started off enthusiastic. Arms waving about; voice rising and falling; words filling itself with romanticism; smiles beaming; Francis used almost every technique he knew. However, Arthur's attitude was dead. Every gesture was looked down upon; every vocal dynamic was ignored; every word received a grunt in response; every smile only got a deeper scowl. The joy Francis sought was never present, probably killed by a stormy, cynical personality. Francis hoped that his own cheery disposition would lift Arthur's obvious dark mood. But, it seemed that it was working the other way around. After a while, Francis' enthusiasm and passion died down, quieting into a mere shimmer. His arms moved like limp noodles; his voice fell into a drone; words became a plain prose; the smile flatlined like a heart monitor. The tour had died and was turning around in its grave.

The two men were quite distance away from the office, thanks to Francis, but the man was starting to think that going so far away had been a bad idea. Arthur was so unpleasant and so boring that Francis figured that doing the paperwork would have been more exciting. So, he decided to take a "break," and the pair stopped on the side of the hallway where another hall joined and a window made a giant hole in the wall. The area was dull, like every other place they had travelled to, but it seemed to be even more torturous when the attempted tour had died.

Francis sighed and gave a disinterested glance out the window. Outside there was a large, white dome. The piece if architecture wasn't amazing; it was made by metal plates and curved beams. A few large garage doors made openings for trucks and people to go in and out. There were no windows in the walls, so nobody knew what exactly the workers were doing inside. However, Francis, having been around the area for a good six years, knew exactly what they were doing, although unaware of the details. In an unenthusiastic attempt to revive the tour's "liveliness," Francis lamely gestured outside at a white dome. "And that's the Land Control Centre," he drawled.

Suddenly, Arthur spun around and pressed his hands on the window, shocking Francis out of his place beside the railing. His green eyes widened and his mouth hung open. "Really?" he asked. "As in, the Land Control Centre? The headquarters?"

Francis blinked, as if the aura of excitement radiating from Arthur would disappear. It was almost as if Arthur had turned into a completely different person. "Yes?" he replied.

"Oh, wow! I've always wanted to see it in person! It's as amazing as I imagined."

"Really?" Francis too turned around, sparing the dome another look. Maybe he had missed something for the past six years, and Arthur had seen it immediately. Francis turned his head side to side, looking at it in different angles. He squinted. He pressed his face up to the window. His breath was fogging up the glass. But, the dome was the same as ever. White and plain. There was nothing truly amazing about the dome.

"Then your imagination is pretty boring."

Arthur glared at Francis, snarling. "You simply do not see the sheer awesomeness of this technological advancement, completely unique to the World Domain. It makes the very ground you stand on. Without it, you would be drowning."

Francis waved his hand and shrugged. "Yeah, yeah, I know. The facility takes trash and converts it into fertile soil, and all that crap."

"Exactly! They first take everything, detoxify it through the process of—"

"And it's super-duper amazing."

"Yeah… And more."

"But do you know what else is amazing?" Francis asked and pulled away from the window to cross his arms over his chest.

"What?" Arthur's eyes were locked on the white dome again.

"The workers, of course. Here, I'll point some out for you." Francis leaned back towards the window, peering past the edge of the floor to look at all the people running around on the pavement. Keeping one hand tucked underneath an elbow, Francis started pointing some individuals out. "That man with the straight-short blond hair is Vash Zwingli. He's the head of the Land Control Centre; almost everybody except Ludwig Beilschmidt bows to him, and he is pretty trigger-happy, so I suggest you to not piss him off too many times." Then his finger moved to another person. She looked almost exactly like the person he had pointed at before, except that she was significantly shorter and had braided hair going down to her shoulder blades. "The girl beside him is his sister, Lili Zwingli, one of the Detoxification Phase 3 employees. She's a real sweetheart, but don't hurt her or else her brother will stuff you through the detoxification process." Afterwards his hand made a sweeping gesture at the rows of armed men in green uniforms. "And those guys keep the whole facility safe from any enemy attacks. They're all top-notch soldiers; even Gil has no right to give orders to them." Francis paused and squinted. "Let's see if I can name them all: Allen Walker, Roy Mustang, Riza Hawkeye, Yuu Kanda, Olivia Armstrong, Break Xerxes, Tôshirô Hitsugaya, Sebastian Michaelis, and… I think that those guys there are Syaoran Li, Fai Flourite, and Kurogane Daidôji. I can't tell because of their visors, but I know that they are always together." Francis stopped his pointing and smiled at Arthur. "You got all those names? I'll introduce you to them later if you want."

But Arthur had not moved, his mouth still hanging open slightly. Francis paused for a bit and waited for a response. But Arthur's gaze was clearly on the facility's architecture, twitching from side to side but never down at the people below. The boy probably hadn't even listened to Francis.

The older man sighed, defeated. He still didn't know what was so interesting about the building. What was made it so that it would cause Arthur to completely disregard the people below? Everything made no sense. Well, to each their own, right? For the past hour, Arthur had not shown a single sign of excitement. It was good to see him passionate about something. To take that away would be considered cruel, and Francis certainly wouldn't like that adjective pasted onto his character. So, turning around and leaning against the railings, Francis decided to allow Arthur to indulge himself to whatever strange tastes the boy had. It shouldn't be long; nobody could stare at a building so intently for a long period of time, after all. It was simply a matter of waiting, and Francis was good at that. He knew the trick: Just keep the mind busy with what was going on around it and time should fly by. And that was exactly what he did.

A voice echoed from down the hallway cheerfully. A quieter voice muttered a few quick words. Then footsteps clicked away: High heels, stilettos, female. Another pair of footsteps shuffled from the area, closer. Two other pairs of footsteps padded from another direction, but they were too quiet to be completely discernible. Sneakers? Slippers? Bare feet? Were they coming closer or going further way? He couldn't quite tell. Deciding that he wasn't going to be bothered by the quiet pairs of footsteps, he turned his head to face the closest noise. Then, a male turned around the bend. His head was bowed as he flipped through slides on his tablet. From the back, Francis immediately picked out key features: lab coat; casual T-shirt and jeans; sneakers; brown hair; funny cowlick on the left; bouncy gait, similar to skipping; a fast talking voice muttering words of both English and Italian. Wait. Italian.

Francis let loose a high-pitched squeal.

"Feliciano!" The blond man tackled the brunette from behind, pulling the smaller body into a tight embrace. Francis gave the mass of brown hair a myriad of kisses. "I haven't seen you in a day!"

With large, brown eyes, Feliciano looked up. His mouth formed a little o before stretching out into a giant grin. "Ciao, Big Brother Francis!" the brunette greeted with an airy voice that almost sang without meaning to. "How have you been doing?"

"Beautiful, like always!" Francis giggled and rubbed his cheek against the side of Feliciano's head. "How about you? That meany Ludwig is treating you well, yes?"

The boy laughed. It was a tinkling little sound, like music to Francis' ears. "Of course he is! He gives me extended pasta breaks if I do well and stuff. It's great"

"Wonderful." Francis sighed and smiled, resting his chin on the top Feliciano's head. The blond was still hugging Feliciano, but unlike the person he had been spending most of the day with, Feliciano did not move from his place except to wiggle his arms free so he could continue to work on a few documents saved on his tablet. Francis had always liked that about the little Italian; Francis could spontaneously hug Feliciano as much as and as long as he wanted, and the boy wouldn't even complain. Francis would miss that—who wouldn't?—but he would just have to learn to deal with a not-so-loveable person for company for the next two years. It was still a bit saddening though.

"Hey!"

"Watch where you're standing, you asshole!"

Francis let go of Feliciano and the two turned around. Arthur was no longer looking out the window, but instead glaring at somebody, who closely resembled Feliciano. In fact, the newcomer looked almost exactly like Feliciano. Luckily, Francis was able to pick out differing features. The other had a shade of dark brown hair hued with red instead of a solid light brown. A funny cowlick stuck out of the mass of hair like in Feliciano's hair, but it curled to the right rather than to the left. His eyes were a different shade as well. They were also brown, but underneath the sun shining from the window, they were almost green. Additionally, he was not in the same outfit as Feliciano. Instead of wearing casual clothes and sneakers, he had hospital scrubs and a pair fluffy, red slippers. A lab coat was also missing from the apparel, so that left the arms bare, revealing bandages wrapped around both forearms and showing off a yellow, plastic hospital band. Unfortunately the differences stopped there: The facial structures were the same; they stood at similar heights; even their skin colours were alike.

Something in Francis' mind clicked; the boy was Lovino. And that was never a good sign if a fight broke out around him.

Dreading for the worst, Francis stepped forward. "You two should stop fighting," he intervened. But his voice did not carry.

"I say, watch where you're going before you dizzily walk into somebody standing off to the bloody side!" Arthur snapped back, gesturing at the empty space in the hallway.

"No, you should stop wasting space!" Lovino spat.

"Wasting space? Wasting space? This hallway is wide enough for a five column band to march through!"

Lovino stepped closer to Arthur. "I meant the space near the railing, dumbass! Go waste space somewhere else!"

Something must have snapped inside Arthur at that point. Green eyes flashed with absolute fury. He grabbed Lovino by the collar and pulled him up onto his toes. The shorter male grabbed at Arthur's hands. Then Arthur sneered, "Watch your language."

"Let him go."

Silence fell and everybody looked towards the direction of the new voice. A man clad in an outfit just like Lovino's stood with a hand on the railing and an IV stand between his pointer and middle fingers. Bandages, like Lovino's, covered his forearms except for the little area where the IV bag's tube was connected to. A red, plastic wristband was around his wrist, implying a similar situation to Lovino's. He stood a few centimetres higher than Francis and Arthur, but he was hunching a bit, so his stature was not as impressive as it could have been. He also had a fading tan, probably due to an extensive time indoors when he usually would be outside in the sun. Semi-curly, brown hair sagged on his head, like tendrils of a limp octopus. In reality, the man was in no shape to command full attention. But he did anyway. His bright green eyes glowered at Arthur. They almost appeared to glow due to the contrast between his skin and his irises. They had caught all the attention, not his stature and not his voice. And they held as much power as an animal ready to pounce from a cave.

Francis gulped. Antonio. And he was angry.

"Do I need to repeat myself?" Antonio growled. A thick accent had seeped into his language, and the words clicked together like a horse's hooves upon the pavement.

Hesitantly, Arthur unclenched his fist, leaving prominent wrinkles in Lovino's cloth. His gaze was still locked on the furious man before him, even when Lovino scampered behind Antonio. Then the man walked up to Arthur. The IV stand rolled beside him, but even its squealing wheels were not heard through the silence. Then his countenance twisted into a sneer. His corners of his mouth were pulled back, revealing his teeth. They were the sign of power, and they barely parted as Antonio hissed, "If you so dare hurt him again, your blood will stain walls."

The threat floated above Arthur's head, and nobody said anything as Antonio shuffled around Arthur, keeping a hand on Lovino's shoulder and dragging his IV stand along with him. Both he and Lovino were the only moving beings in the hallways, and the noise from the squeaky wheels and the shuffling feet became the sole sound that cut through the humming silence. Antonio's head was held high, despite the slight hunch, and he ignored Arthur, who remained still and whose gaze did not dare follow. Then Antonio grabbed back onto the railing and, while picking up his feet, continued down the hallway. Lovino's head had been bowed the whole time, and Antonio chose this moment to ruffle the boy's hair. Francis could vaguely hear some murmured words from Antonio before the squealing sounds of tiny wheels faded into the distance.

"I, uh, should get going," Feliciano piped up, tugging on Francis' sleeve.

Francis jolted and shook his head to clear it. "Oh, of course," he replied, nodding. Then he pulled Feliciano into another hug, this time with Feliciano's tablet caught in between. "Be a good boy, now. I don't want to hear Ludwig complaining about you." A smiled stretched across his face.

"Okay." Feliciano grinned as well. Then he, too, scampered away and disappeared around the corner.

Francis watched the brown-haired boy before turning back to Arthur. The blond seemed to be still frozen, gaze staring blankly where Antonio had been. His mouth hung ajar slightly, and his hand was still raised to the height where he held Lovino's collar. Francis walked up to Arthur and opened his mouth to speak.

"Who was he?" Arthur asked, turning his head to look at Francis with wide green eyes.

"The one I talked to?" Francis asked. "He was Feliciano Vargas. He was my subordinate before you."

Arthur shook his head. "No, the other one."

"The one who bumped into you? They call him Lovino; he's a bit fiery."

He shook his head again. Then he pointed at his wrist, much like how one would point at a watch. "The one with the red wristband."

Francis laughed. "What? Are you worried that you made an enemy already?" Arthur scowled. Then, Francis slapped Arthur's back, grinning. "No worries, you just got on his bad side for a bit. He thought you were a threat. But Antonio is actually very forgiving; I'll talk to him for you and clear things up. You'll still have your chances with him." He winked.

Arthur's eyebrows knitted together. "What?"

"He'll even run up to you like a puppy and lick your face!"

"What?" Arthur shrieked.

Francis reached around the prickling Arthur and shepherded him forward. "I'm just kidding; I'm just kidding." Then the older man paused for a moment, staring at the scowling and spiteful other. And that was when a thought popped into his head. To say that it was mischievous would be an understatement, but to say that it was entirely evil would be inaccurate. In fact, it might, in the long run, be highly beneficial. So, with a stretching grin that forcibly narrowed his eyes, Francis tugged on Arthur's hair and suggested, "Y'know, let's go meet Gilbert. I'm sure you would adore him!"