Apollo and Artemis

One Shot 4

Alfred F. Jones was a dead man. There was no question about that. The only question was how Alfred F. Jones would die, according to his little brother, Jackson. Violent and painfully were all the concrete details he knew for sure. The rest was currently up to his imagination's whimsy, which turned out to have a surprisingly sadistic side. Yes, not only was Alfred F. Jones a dead man, but he was about to meet the Southern devil in person. That man really should have known better than to cross the Confederate States of America a second time.

It all began July 16th, 1969, with the launch of Apollo 11. Space had been an interest in common with both of the American brothers, a certain Russian as well even if that was a whole other story, but Jackson had never been a fan of travelling and that certainly did not change for space travel. Alfred did not share the same sentiment at least, even in the face of earlier failures in the space crafts. The American nation was never even supposed to be allowed near the rocket in the first place, but his persistence and a bit of manipulation went a long way: he got his seat on the flight. Jackson had been opposed from the beginning, but could easily recognize the futility of any words of persuasion, so he stayed quiet. He did not utter a single word from the day his brother finally got confirmation of his flight on, not even moments before his brother's launch. What did it matter when the fool was going to die or worse anyway?

July 20th brought news of exactly what Jackson was expecting: worse, Alfred made it to the moon. As much as Jackson had tried to appear apathetic, even continuing his vow of silence, he stayed very in tune to the communications from the space craft. He even spent most of his time haunting the Kennedy Space Center. His boss had been kind enough to give him a leave of absence for the extended period Alfred was away, leaving him without much else to do. It was during one of those habitual hauntings of the center that the news leaked and he almost broke his silence, especially as his brother's joyful voice crackled into his ears. If he made it this time there was no doubt he was going to try and do it again. This was definitely worse.

Even with all the accumulated dread and anxiety already gathered, it was not until July 24th, the day of Apollo 11's return to Earth, did Jackson reach his breaking point. He disappeared: Alfred F. Jones was not with the remnants of the space craft that landed in Pacific Ocean. None of the crew members could account for him, nor were there any signs of him in the surrounding area, land or sea. He was just gone. That was the reason why he was a dead man, because if the landing had not killed him, Jackson surely was. He risked his life, all those of his citizens, and probably Jackson's, too, for his little joy ride on that rocket, and judging by the less than pristine state of the retrieved crew, even if the nation was alive he was probably in the hands of the Soviets whether he realized it or not. In all actuality, he was better off with the commie. Ivan was far more merciful than Jackson was feeling at the moment.

It was some time later after the crew's recovery that Jackson paced alone in the Virginian home that he was supposed to share with his brother. He was not even bothering to keep up with the time as his mind ran through all the pressing matters over and over again. Alfred was gone, which meant he was the new personification until he came back. But Alfred was dead, or close to it, which could possibly mean that he would disappear as well and America the entity would descend into anarchy. No country had ever lost its personification before, not that anyone knew at least, without the entirety of the country dying with it. Then again, killing him would be worth it if he had a chance, but the job was probably already done. Regardless, it was imperative that the rest of the globe did not know that the personification of America was missing. Chances were that if Alfred was gone for good, Jackson would just have to assume his identity for the world meetings as not to cause a stir. The two brothers looked enough alike and Jackson's acting skills were impeccable. The globe would never know, Alfred F. Jones's death going down as another buried American secret, and all for the better. Oh, how little it took to send the rest of the world into a frenzy—

"You hear me yet or—OW!"

Jackson blinked, stupefied at his own bodies' natural reflexes. If he could flip a man by his arm without a thought, then why did he not even hear him come in? No, not man—Nation. An American nation to be precise. Jackson's eyes narrowed to the point that his pupils practically turned into slits as his grip tightened inhumanly so on the flipped man's captive wrist. Well look at what the cat dragged in.

"I know you're mad—Gah!—but listen, that hurts, Jackie."

Jackson's lips curled into a cold grin as Alfred's wrist continued to crackle and pop, "That is the point, but do not worry if you have not learned that yet, you will."

A brief flash of fear passed over Alfred's features before a calm acceptance took its place—even as Jackson's grip got ever tighter. It was that change that brought Jackson back to reality and he released Alfred's wrist, knowing now that the elder would not run at least. Of course, Jackson had one of those feelings that would be the least of his problems at the moment.

"You have every right to be mad." Alfred began, pulling himself to his feet and allowing Jackson to see that one arm was hidden completely inside his bomber jacket, but not in the sleeve, "But at least kill me when we are alone."

Jackson's piercing eyes followed the bulge in Alfred's thick coat where his arm had to be throughout the elder's incoherent words, and slowly the younger's mind began to turn in reverse. Alfred had said something the moment he got home. Jackson knew he did, even if he had been so engrossed in thought not to hear it. No, he heard it, on second thought. He simply had not processed it. So the tape in his mind rewound and played it back, over and over again, with each replay gaining a little clarity.

"Congratulations, it's a—"

"Girl."

Jackson stared wide-eyed and jaw to the floor as Alfred cut him off, both verbally and physically by removing his jacket away from the bulge. Cradled against his chest was probably the smallest child Jackson had seen up close. Her hair was as black as the night sky and her skin as pale as the moon. It gave Jackson chills while Alfred was grinning like an idiot, his bright smile about to split his face.

"She's the moon you know." he explained, "I saw her birth myself, and I have to tell you—it was amazing. That is why she is so small. I do not think any other country has been found so young. Isn't it great? We have a little sister now! It is a little ironic really, that the ship was named Apollo. In Greek mythology Apollo, the sun god, was the twin brother of Artemis, the moon goddess. Everything fits so perfectly when you think about it."

With a little doing Jackson finally managed to reel his jaw back in while he tried to absorb all the new information his eyes and ears were getting, but his brain was pretty much fried at that point. Alfred, noticing this, rolled his azure eyes with a fond smile before approaching his brother—and proceeding to push the child into his arms. Jackson yelped, scrambling to get a proper hold on the infant while Alfred just laughed.

"What are you thinking!? I don't know how to take care of a ch-child!" the younger hissed, still struggling a bit and praying to every deity out there that he would not rouse the poor thing from its sleep.

"Calm down. You will learn, I did. Besides, this is exciting. How often does a new nation come into the world?" Alfred insisted, still smiling.

"If you take her I will not ask where on earth you have been all this time." Jackson promised, panic still evident in his voice, "How is that, hm?"

Alfred finally conceded and relieved his brother of the small charge. As soon as she was safely in Alfred's arms, Jackson's tension melted away. It finally let him examine the situation a little more rationally, and he had to admit, Alfred was right about this being exciting. However, there was something still bothering Jackson.

"What did you name her? I did not catch that."

Alfred paused at this, looking down at the child and then back to Jackson before shrugging, "I was actually going to ask you for help with that."

Jackson practically smacked his forehead with a groan, but controlled himself, fearing what may happen if he took his eyes off his brother again.

"Any thoughts, then?" the younger probed, "You do know her personality better."

Once more Alfred shrugged, "Sure, but I figured we could each pick a name. You can pick the first, me the middle, and naturally her last name will be Jones."

Jackson pondered this a moment before shaking his head, "No, you pick the first name."

Alfred nodded with a smile, "Fine, but you have to pick the middle name then. Mm… How about Nikkita? It means unconquered or unconquerable."

"Perfect for a little moon goddess—or revolutionary." Jackson commented, looking the child's features over in an attempt to match a suitable name, "Diamond."

"Diamond?" Alfred parroted, watching Jackson nod in response.

"To remind her how precious she is."

Alfred's smile grew in wattage, "Nikkita D. Jones it is!"

With the relatively calm turn in the conversation, both Alfred and Jackson began to feel the fatigue that had built up in their bodies for days. They did not even have to say anything to each other to recognize the other's condition. Alfred would have to die another day. Without any further communication the three found themselves on Alfred's bed, Nikkita sleeping peacefully between the two brothers. As sleep began to overtake the older two, Jackson spared a thought to what Alfred had said earlier. The sun and the moon were brother and sister, but they were also polar opposites, were they not? The same could be said of Artemis and Apollo. That meant the future was going to be anything but easy, but it never was, it seemed. Jackson shifted to his side that allowed him to face the child and he stretched out a hand, though shakily, to touch her. As soon as his fingers reached her warm, soft skin all his apprehension dissolved.

"Now I know I have no clue what kind of big brother I will be," he whispered to the child, "but I will be the very best I can for you. I would not be representing mine—ours very well if I did not, now would I? He may do a bunch of stupid things that I will be sure to steer you away from, but the things he does right make him the best in the world. So, I will start with the first thing he ever did right. Nikkita, I promise you that I will never leave you alone or let you be lonely, first and foremost, but I will also turn you into a Southern belle if it is the last thing I do. Manners are essential no matter what anyone else believes."

Little did Jackson know that the blond American that was supposed to be fast asleep was listening attentively, even as Jackson's words turned to snores.

"You'll make a great big brother, Jackie. Better than me, I know. I hate that I do not have all the time in the world to spend with you two like I used to. I feel like I have not been able to keep my promises to both of you, but maybe you both can keep them for me. You'll be closer than the twins Artemis and Apollo, and probably more powerful, too. I cannot wait to see what you guys become when you grow up."