Yo, Hokou no Kokoro back again! This guy took a little long to get done, but I got it! So far, this is the shortest Law chapter. Originally, this was going to be a Theory chapter-a continuation of the last one-but in the end, I thought against it. Well, anyway, so this is another Law chapter, and the next chapter will be your first Reason chapter.
Reviewer thanks: (I failed to do this all the other chapters, but I'm doing it now!)
Law 1, Part 1: cheshiresapprentice, Crazy Green Earphones, firelight3; Law 1, Part 2: Crazy Green Earphones; Theory 2: Crazy Green Earphones, firelight3; Law 2, Part 1: BrOwNiEfOx, Crazy Green Earphones; Law 2, Part 2: BrOwNiEfOx, firelight3, Crazy Green Earphones; Law 2, Part 3: firelight3, Crazy Green Earphones, Guest, FlyingLikeAButterfly; Law 3: Crazy Green Earphones, Erania; Theory 3: Crazy Green Earphones, firelight3, BrOwNiEfOx, and Julia.
Thank you so much for your reviews! They're all very much appreciated, and they're what keeps me going.
In addition to that new practice, I'm adding another one as well. At varying milestone review counts, I will send the reviewer a PM and they can request a one-shot fic from me. And the higher the milestone, the longer the one-shot. For example, if you hit the first milestone, you get a one-shot that's 1,000 words long. And then if you hit the second, you get a one-shot that's 1,500 words long. Etc. This is all in celebration to those who take the time to review. Thank you very much!
Well, now that's a long note. So let's get on with this show. Thank you and enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own Axis Powers: Hetalia. It rightfully belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz. I merely own the AU plot.
To Create Perfection
"Some people are so fond of ill-luck that they run half-way to meet it."
—Douglas Jerrold
"Law 4: Without Worries"
Arthur snatched the home keys from off his counter. The little things jingled on the ring and he stuck them into his pocket. He also took his wallet as well and counted the amount within the pouch. Behind him, Alistair stood, leaning against his crutches tucked under his arms and scowling. The redheaded man was glaring at Arthur's back, and when Arthur walked around the counter to find some more money stashed in one of the drawers, the man hobbled after.
"Would you stop following me?" Arthur asked, slamming the drawer closed.
"No," Alistair snapped back. His tone was sharp, soaked with a distinct accent that Arthur could never imagine speaking in. Arthur never wanted to hear that voice at all. "You didn't tell me that you're going anywhere. Why didn't you tell me that you were going?"
"Look, I forgot." Arthur moved onto another drawer and slammed that shut as well. Apparently, there was no more money left hidden. Alistair must have run off with it to buy cheap liquor.
"You forgot. You say you forgot," Alistair mocked. He walked around Arthur, his face scrunched up with clear disgust. The pads of his crutches made strange clicking noises against the tiles. "You told me that you have a day off today, but forgot to tell me that you're doing something on that day?"
"Jesus bloody Christ! Yes, I forgot!" Arthur was yelling, shooting a glare to another pair of green eyes. "Why do you care anyway?"
"I don't."
"Then don't ask!" A hand waved dismissively at Alistair. "Now go roll over in a corner and drown yourself in whisky. I'll be back in the evening."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Arthur was walking towards the door, and Alistair followed quickly after. "I swear that—"
There was a knock. Arthur shot his brother a glare, and Alistair fell silent; however, their scowls grew, each holding its own silent spite. With an exasperated flick of his hand, Alistair turned and limped away, disappearing around the corner into another room. Then Francis' voice permeated through the door, all jovial as if the setting was in a cheesy musical. "Mon chéri! I've arrived bearing gifts for your residence!" the "nuisance" called louder than the clicks of Alistair's crummy crutches.
Arthur's mood immediately plummeted. He felt like he was surrounded by the voices of his greatest tormentors. Nevertheless, groaning and rolling his eyes, he opened the door. And then his mouth fell right open.
Francis was indeed bearing gifts. Normally Arthur wouldn't mind people giving him a few little trinkets—he was gracious enough to take what was given—but Francis didn't need to look like some sort of bachelor at the same time. What appeared to be Francis' definition of gifts were a bouquet of stunningly white lilies, all wrapped up in a translucent purple plastic wrap patterned with very feminine swirls of faded green, and a bottle of imported red wine that had to be at the very least older than the war. And Francis himself—the man was outrageous in Arthur's mind. Francis appeared awfully strange out of his BCWD uniform, but apparently he wore designer clothes when trying to be "casual." That day, Francis wore a bluish-purple dress shirt and tannish coat, both shining with a glossy veneer over the tightly loomed threads, and similarly coloured pants, coupled with dress shoes that border-lined hiking boots and a loose scarf stripped with white and green. He dressed much too well for a simple visit. He even shaved, revealing a delicate jawline that looked much too girly for a man.
"Bonjour! I see you're doing well!" Francis greeted with a wink. "Where is your partner whom I have heard about?"
"M-my what?" Arthur sputtered, mouth still agape.
"Your partner," Francis repeated. "You know, your wife?"
"I don't have a wife."
"Oh, I'm sorry. Your husband?" Francis tried again. Then he looked at his bouquet, holding it close to his nose. "Hmm… Maybe I should have simply brought two bottles…"
Suddenly, the implications hit Arthur. And he exploded. "I live with my bloody brother, for Christ's sake!"
One of Francis' thin eyebrows curved higher on his forehead. "So you're one of those people?" He cleared his throat, adjusting his collar with his wine holding hand. "Well, I'm completely fine with your preferences. I would have just liked it if you told me before—"
"What I mean is that I'm not married!"
"Really?"
"Yes!"
"Are you sure?"
"Yes!"
"You're not lying, are you?"
"No, I'm not bloody lying! If I were, I'd be out that window before you could ever ask me again!"
Francis huffed. "That's a disappointment."
"You're a disappointment!"
"Quit shouting!" Alistair's voice cut through the air. Both Francis and Arthur closed their mouths, stopping any more retorts and turning to face the snapping words. "I swear, you brat, you told me to go away because you thought I was going to be rude, but like you're any better!" The sudden silence allowed the sounds of Alistair's walking to clink through the air, and the redhead peered around the corner at Arthur. Rage was written all over his face. "Do I have to lecture you on how to treat your—" Then his jaw hung open.
The look of pure shock etched over Alistair's face surprised both Francis and Arthur. The man's green eyes were wide, staring directly at Francis as if a painful recognition ploughed right through Alistair's mind. But Francis himself didn't know what to do and stared right back. Alistair's face was nowhere in Francis' mental database of faces, and Francis didn't remember anybody missing a right leg, yet something about how Francis looked somehow scared Alistair. Off to the side, Arthur stood still. An even more intense look of confusion than Francis' had slid over Arthur's countenance, and he raised an eyebrow. He was about to say something, but he stopped.
"Joan…?" Alistair choked out.
Francis' blond eyebrows scrunched together, furrowing his brow. "I'm sorry, who?"
That snapped Alistair out of his fearing trance. Suddenly, Alistair's expression of rage returned, although a bit milder, and he shook his head. His jaw formed another scowl and he hobbled around into a turn. "Never mind," the word came out as a growl. "You just looked like a lady; that's all. Have fun on your date, brat."
Arthur fumed again, tossing his hands into the air in exasperation. "I'm not going on a date with another man! This is strictly business matters!"
"Whatever." Alistair waved behind his back dismissively.
Arthur growled something under his breath. Even after years of living with his own eldest brother, he never seemed to quite understand anything Alistair did. With a sharp sigh, he walked towards the door and said, "All right, let's go. I want to get this over with."
But, for some odd reason, Francis didn't seem to notice. Hand on the doorknob, Arthur waved Francis over. "Let's go. Leave my brother alone."
"Does he stay home alone all day?" Francis asked.
"Yes. So let's go."
"Every day?"
"Yes."
Francis paused for a moment and ran his fingers through his hair. Then he placed the white lilies gently on the counter and put the bottle of wine nearby. "One moment, please."
Then he walked around the corner; Arthur followed closely after, scowl stretching further. He could hear Francis talk to Alistair. "Hey, come with us," Francis said, a personable smile clashing with Alistair's frown. "We're going to SS. It'll be a nice change of pace from here."
At first, Alistair refused. Thick eyebrows were raised and he turned his head away.
"But it'll be nice!" Francis urged.
"No," Alistair said again.
"In the evening, we're going to get something to eat. Dinner's on me."
That caught Alistair's attention: nice and quick. Arthur himself had never been able to persuade the redhead into doing anything, but then again, Francis had the advantage of having his own finances rather than having a joint one similar to Alistair's and Arthur's. Francis was able to bribe; Arthur could not. And when Arthur realised that he was going to be spending the rest of the day with another nuisance, his scowl deepened.
Nevertheless, Francis continued to insist, draping his arms over both Arthur's and Alistair's shoulders and saying that it was going to be a great bonding time between men, and then led them out the door. Arthur quickly locked the door behind them, and the group of three proceeded through the apartment and into the parking lot behind the building. Only a few cars were there, since the majority of residents could easily walk around to their destinations. Each one of them was a slick, almost flat, vehicle with wheels that were protected by a plastic covering that was melded into the metal contraption. Windows were either white or black, and they spanned from the windshield, over the top, and to the back. Only one of them appeared to be a hovering model, with its pseudo-wheels barely a centimetre from the ground, while the rest were plugged in a wire from the ground to maintain the energy storage. Francis led Arthur and Alistair to one of the plugged in cars. It was an immaculate white with a black, opaque window that covered the whole top of the cockpit and the passenger seats. A black design shone from the hood, giving off a stylish impression.
When he approached the vehicle, Francis took out his BCWD card and walked around to the driver's side. Then he passed the card over the hood and the car sprang to life, lighting up with blue, rectangular lines and sliding four oval doors up to reveal the inside. There were four black leather seats; although the car seemed to be so flat that it appeared to force passengers to lie down, the seats were upright. Then he tapped the door directly behind the driver's seat, and the door slid down and closed, creating a soft whirring sound.
"All right, get in and make yourself comfortable," Francis said with a grin. He walked around the car and unplugged it, letting the thick wire to drop onto the ground. "This is going to be a long ride."
Arthur groaned and rolled his eyes. Alistair immediately took his chance to slip into the shotgun. Shooting a glare at his brother through the lowering door, Arthur knew he was not going to enjoy the time in the car and slipped into the seat behind Alistair. Francis soon followed and got behind the wheel. He moved Alistair's crutches into the back beside Arthur and started the car out of the parking lot.
The ride was indeed long, lasting almost three hours before Francis had said that they entered SS. And through almost the whole time, the vehicle was silent except for the whirring and clicking of the engine and the soft music playing from the radio. A few times, Francis had tried starting a conversation. "I didn't know you had a brother, Arthur," he had said. "What's it like to have a brother? Do you two get along?" he had asked. "The weather is really nice," he had mentioned. "SS is a really nice town. It's not as densely populated as the rest of the World Domain," he had explained. But no matter what Francis said, neither brother would say a complete sentence. Alistair seemed to only grunt, and Arthur stuck with a yes or no answer. Only once was anything answered at all.
"I've been meaning to ask you, what happened to your leg, Alistair?" Francis asked.
Alistair huffed and leaned on an arm. A hand was covering his mouth as he glared outside.
"He lost it in the war," Arthur replied for his brother. "He was in some division in Canada."
"Probe Division, Serial 435, CA area 64," Alistair suddenly said.
Francis peered to the left. "Probe Division? Don't those divisions see the least fighting? Furthest from the battle or something?"
Alistair grunted something else, but said nothing.
"You two don't like to talk much, do you?" Francis asked only to receive more incoherent and unintelligible grunts and grumbles. He looked up at the rear-view mirror to see Arthur, but the other blond also did not say anything. The way Arthur looked out the window easily resembled Alistair's, and Francis saw that, despite their differences and conflicts, they were indeed brothers.
After, Francis resigned to the oppressive silence the anti-conversationalists created. Slowly, he simply settled into the sounds of the violin and the piano and the rhythms of the driving. Although the World Domain was relatively densely populated, there rarely were many drivers going down the thin strips of treated dirt clearings called "roads." Maybe it was because there were so many people in such a small space that everything was supposedly close by, so few found the need to leave their little homes. The rest was either city or artificial forest fostered to provide a needed balance with the technology of humans. Eventually, the tall buildings surrounding the roads on each side turned into trees. A few skyscrapers were able to peek through the leaves of the branches, but they went unnoticed, and Francis relished in the ambience for only a brief moment. And then he stepped harder on the accelerator and streaked by only four other motor vehicles before entering the area called SS-24, where the wooden trees were replaced by stubby little buildings of brick and cement, and careening through the gaps the architectural guards made.
It took Francis almost 15 minutes to park. He had driven to the furthest outskirts of the "city," or in a more accurate term, "town." In every way, the area had an antique appearance with its short buildings and crude, stone walls and streets; the few cars seemed to be out of place like a river pebble in a desert mound. Francis slid into a small space at the corner of an unnamed building. Then he clicked a few buttons and stopped the whole vehicle. The wheels slowly lowered, and a quiet "whooshing" sound could be heard.
With a grin, Francis turned around to the Kirkland siblings. "All right. We're here. So get out; we're walking the rest of the way."
Arthur stretched his arms over his head and sighed. "About time," he grumbled, pulling his shirt back over his stomach.
"It would have gone faster if you had the basic social skills to actually carry a conversation."
"Oh, shut your mouth, git."
Francis laughed, opened his door and slipped out. Arthur quickly followed afterwards and walked to Francis' side, hands crossed over his chest while he expectantly waited for Francis to direct the little "party" to their destination. However, Francis seemed to stop and ducked his head into the car again. "Hey, aren't you coming along with us?" he asked.
Alistair didn't pry his eyes from the tinted windows. "No," he said.
"Aw, why not? I'll get your crutches for you." Francis reached behind his seat to retrieve the walking aids.
The redhead shot Francis a glare and the blond stopped dead in his tracks. Sighing, Alistair pulled his elbow from the sill of the window and waved his brother and Francis off. "I just don't want to go. I'll wait in the car."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah."
"All right then." Francis pulled out of the car. Then he pointed at Alistair's feet. "If you get bored, I have a few books stored there. I hope you don't mind science textbooks."
Alistair shrugged and then slammed down on a button the dashboard. With a quick click, the doors slid back down and locked themselves, leaving Francis mildly confused with Arthur rolling his eyes at the side.
"Huh, that was an awfully curt farewell," Francis mused, hands on his hips.
"That's an understatement," Arthur pointed out. "He's always like that. Doesn't even know the left and right of the codes of courtesy."
"Is that so?" A blond eyebrow was arched and Francis turned and stared at Arthur. Then he sighed and let his hands drop to his side. "All right then, let's go."
Giving a small wave for Arthur to follow, Francis walked down the sidewalk and turned the corner. Arthur looked up at the building to the right; its eccentric spires reached upward towards the sky, decorated with archaic designs that border-lined Gothic of the seventeenth century, and its cement walls were worn and weathered by erosion and discolouration that didn't complement with the shining stained glass windows. It was a strange piece of architecture to reside in, but Arthur figured that everybody had his or her individual tastes. However, Francis didn't seem to give it a second glance, and the two walked right past the door. Arthur shot Francis a questioning look but said nothing. Beside the furthest wall, a fencing of black metal reached out and surrounded a plot of green grass. And scattered across the field were slabs of crude rock jutting out of the ground. When Francis turned into the gates, the look of shock appeared suddenly across Arthur's face.
"Woah, wait, why are we going here?" Arthur asked, panicking as he watched the tombstones pass by.
"We're visiting Gilbert's mentor," Francis replied. He seemed to be unfazed by the staring epitaphs and continued down the brick path.
"Who is dead?" Arthur trotted faster until he walked closely beside Francis.
"Sometimes the dead speak the loudest."
Arthur frowned as they turned and walked through rows and rows of graves. Suddenly, they stopped at one particular grave. It was the only one that the slab of rock lying on the ground rather standing up. And no flowers decorated the sides. Instead, a plate with a baked potato was set on the corner. The potato seemed to be half-eaten as if the ghost woke up and took a few bites out of the piece of food; however, Arthur noticed the little ants marching across the ceramic, and knew that it was actually nature that chomped down on the potato, not the paranormal. An immaculate blue hat with a large silver star was set on the middle of the tombstone, perfectly folded and ready to be worn. It must have been the same one Arthur had seen Gilbert holding when he first met the snappish soldier; either that or it was the same hat Arthur had seen in the old photograph in Gilbert's office. And a rifle was left there as well. The golden letters over the wood read, "The Black Eagle." There was no epitaph, and only a cursive name was carved into the plain stone. It was the grave of Frederick Hohenzollern.
For a brief moment, Arthur's green eyes widened with shock. He recognised that name all too well; Frederick Hohenzollern was the man who "declared war on the world," and was practically worshipped by that Gilbert. Arthur glanced over to Francis.
But Francis didn't seem to notice Arthur's realisation. "I told him that he shouldn't leave the gun here," Francis said, picking up the rifle. The firearm made a few small clinks, and he frowned, raising an eyebrow and running his finger down to the barrel until something clicked. "And it's completely loaded with the safety off too. What is he thinking? Like a dead man can fend off attackers or something? It's useless here; I'll return this to Gil."
"Wait!" Arthur exclaimed. "You shouldn't be taking gifts from the dead! Put that back!"
Francis looked over at Arthur and slung the firearm strap over his shoulder. Francis looked strange with a gun in his hands; his outfit was too flashy to appear like a military uniform and the dark weapon stood out against the bright colours. The gun didn't look like it belonged in Francis' hands, yet he carried it like it was naturally there. "Don't worry about that. Old Fritz here wouldn't mind too much. Besides, he already carried off a lot of gifts from years before." Francis smiled.
Unsatisfied with the answer, Arthur's frown deepened and he looked back at the grave. "So why did Beilschmidt ask us to come here?" he asked. "I don't think you can get much out of a dead man."
"That's where you're wrong." Francis shifted on his feet and tugged his green scarf up to his chin and over his mouth. However, the weather was not cold at all. His blue eyes stared intently at the slowly disappearing potato and the little ants.
"How?"
"Let me tell you a story."