Sorry to anyone who cares about the other story. I lost my train of thought and I'll hopefully pick it back up again, soon. Just not sure where to go with it, yet. *shrug* Any suggestions are appreciated.
This is a cooperative work between myself and Varsistine. We both bounced ideas off of each-other until I wrote this. She edited it and added a lot of descriptive words that were much-needed.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of its characters.
Enjoy!
Space. Space is huge. It is infinitely, infinitely massive. And in space, there are many, many life-forms that think themselves great. They think themselves at the center of it all. Perhaps the most self-centered of all these life-forms is the human race. These creatures think of themselves as the greatest thing to ever walk the surface of the planets they have found in the vastness of the skies. They got in touch with the stars around the year 2020 and have explored what they believe to be the furthest corners of the universe. For over 200 years, their sad excuses for space craft have evolved into huge, hulking battleships and sleek, slender star-hoppers designed to soar through the empty blackness of space. No matter what races they have come across in their travels, the humans have always deemed themselves the greatest, the most indisputably intelligent, and the most handsome of the lot.
One of these humans was named Alfred, and he was currently orbiting around the moon of a small, deserted planet in the far reaches of the galaxy. His craft was a work of his own design, which he affectionately referred to as his 'Awesome American Rocket,' or, more simply put, 'Baby.' Now, Alfred was a young man of about nineteen and through several years of hard work and scrounging for parts, he had built his 'Baby' from the ground up- literally.
The thing could fly (miraculously) and was built incorporating nearly every piece of furniture and appliance in the young man's small apartment. His vacuum cleaner had somehow become the air support system and his kitchen utensils, to include blenders and even the silverware, took the place of throttles and nobs. While most rockets would have tinted plastic buttons to press in case of an emergency, Alfred's didn't. No- she had video game controllers tied into the deepest circuitry of the cockpit. No appliance had been spared; the young mans' prized possession, his refrigerator, had been sacrificed for use as the hatchway to the rickety rig.
Try as they might, not even the best scientists could explain how the 'ship' was able to generate enough lift to traverse up through the thick atmospheres found over various planets. They didn't even bother to tackle the confusion surrounding the parachute and helium balloons tethered precariously to the sides of the craft which supposedly helped the hunk of metal to descend in one piece. When people asked, Alfred simply replied, patting the ship lovingly, "She's my Baby, you know. It's 'cause I built her and I'm so awesome." He would then grin and say his goodbyes, climbing up the bent refrigerator shelves into the cockpit and taking off with a loud "BOOM." Often to the dismay of anyone within a five kilometer radius, enormous jets of black smoke and spurts of flame flew from the dryer-tubing engines. Everyone would be left in massive confusion, desperately attempting to put out the flames in their hair and pat down their smoldering clothes.
Alfred had built this spaceship so he could go about saving the galaxy single-handed (It had always been a dream of his to be a real hero.), without the burden of paying off a big, fancy debt owed to some big, fancy dealers who would have loved to sell him a big, fancy rig that would blow up when someone shot it with a big, not-so-fancy missile, and empty his wallet, all in one shot. As an amazing hero, Alfred expected to have many missiles shot at him from many different people because he was awesome and, after all, saving the galaxy normally got you a lot of enemies. Surprisingly, no one had hit his 'Baby' with a missile, yet. Not because, as Alfred thought, of his great flying skills and excellent law-of-nature-defying abilities, but because those who would have been hitting him with missiles were far too busy laughing themselves to death to aim.
Alfred's goal was to save the galaxy by saving every person in it- one by one. He wasn't silly enough to do it in alphabetical order, but he had seriously considered it. Alfred spent his time orbiting the moons of small, deserted planets, waiting for the inevitable distress call that always came to his many radios and radio clocks from the planet below.
He certainly had fun playing the hero, flying in to rescue stranded victims and forcibly kidnapping them into his spaceship (escorting them into his 'Baby') where most promptly fainted, only waking upon their return to a 'real' spaceship. He believed they fainted out of thanks and relief. Unfortunately, the people usually fainted when they saw what kind of horror they were going to have to endure next: flying away in Alfred's 'Baby' (or, more likely, crashing to a burning heap on the ground in Alfred's 'Baby').
Today was no different. Orbiting around the small planet's moon, the dusty red ship's 'advanced radio technology' detected the faint sounds of a distress call. Sitting up abruptly, Alfred stopped playing Call of Duty XXXIX to examine his console. There was a faint red light blinking above his antique Game Cube controller. He grinned his big, super-hero smile. Another person desperately in need of his help.
Alfred let out an excited 'Whoop!' and twisted a wooden spoon to the right and grabbed an old Xbox 3000 controller to force his ship down into the atmosphere of the planet below. The pilot strained against his car seat-belts as the G-forces hit him, strong enough to push his glasses right up his nose.
The ship landed (in one piece, thankfully), the balloons deflated, and Alfred made sure to monitor his oxygen gauge before throwing the refrigerator door wide open. There was enough oxygen on the planet to breath. He was lucky.
He was lucky because on a previous excursion to save a young alien in need, Alfred had caught his fish-bowl in the doorway of his spaceship. And in his struggle to get free, he had damaged his make-shift helmet, cracking it so that air began to leak out, making that mission rather difficult. He had nearly suffocated, but he managed to drag the limp body of his rescuee into his ship before he collapsed. Alfred F. Jones was a hero, after all. A little lack of air could never stop him.
Remembering that mission, Alfred paused and added 'fish bowl' to the list of things to buy the next time he went to port. He kept this list next to his emergency hatchet. It was there in case, for some reason, someone decided to board his ship uninvited. In such a case, Alfred could beat them with the back side of the list, transforming it into a formidable weapon. The hatchet, however, was reserved for opening particularly stubborn pickle jars.
Alfred quickly climbed out of his ship and up to the roof, stuffing the parachute that had allowed him to fall 'gently' to the planet, back into its Tupperware container. Looking around, Alfred took in the view.
The planet looked so peaceful. A cool breeze blew at his golden-blonde hair, ruffling it, as the sun beat down on the planet's surface, drying the morning dew that formed on the grass. He had parked his spaceship in a small clearing in a rather large forest. The forest grew up around his craft, shading it from direct sunlight. The shady glen looked so serene. The weather was perfect for a picnic, too, or just a hamburger. Perfect weather for a cheeseburger. Nodding, Alfred climbed down from the roof of his craft, taking it all in: the beautiful trees, the gorgeous sunlight, and the wonderful sprinkle of morning dew giving everything that fresh, new scent.
He smiled to himself, pulling off the prized World War II bomber jacket he always wore and draping it over his arm. The jacket had been passed down many generations in his family, somehow avoiding the museums that it should have ended up in. The thing was in wonderful condition, but it was obviously not new; the brown leather creased deeply in places, and the fur collar well matted. Alfred's fore-fathers had worn it themselves, all the way back to the very first man in their family on Earth I to wear it, flying his jet and shooting Nazi bombers out of the sky. Alfred fancied it fitting that he had received the family heirloom instead of his younger brother, Matthew, seeing how, he, Alfred, was the one destined to save the universe.
Alfred began strolling through the shady forest, walking in the direction the signal had come from. He started humming an old marching tune, stepping in time with the music. After five minutes of trekking through dense forest, Alfred began to wonder who would want to be rescued from a paradise like this. He thought it was far more likely that people would want to be rescued to it. He shrugged and continued on. It didn't matter. It was his job to respond to every call and, if someone felt that the place was bad news to them, they shouldn't have to stay any longer.
With that realization, Alfred began to speed up. What was he doing, whittling away his time like some poet? There was someone who needed saving and he was the man on the job!
He pulled his bomber jacket on again, speeding through the wood, dodging through the trees like someone's life depended on it. And it did. Someone's life was dependent on that distress call he'd picked up. They were relying solely on him, the hero of the universe, to get there in time to save them.
He rushed through the forest, finally throwing himself on the ground behind some bushes having spotted another clearing. Breathing slightly heavier, Alfred peered through the bushes. He spotted something lying on the ground in the middle of the glen. The space hero peered about, senses heightened in the face of what may have been danger. With a jolt, Alfred ran forward into the area, right up to what appeared to him to be a young girl. He crouched down next to her and felt her forehead, counted her arms, legs, fingers, heads, eyes, noses, and mouths, and finally decided that the creature was human. She began to stir on the forest floor. Alfred leaned over her, smiling reassuringly.
"Are you alright?" he asked, his blue eyes shining with a genuine concern.
The girl gave him a puzzled look that quickly turned into that of irritation. Sitting up she put her hands on her hips and said in what was obviously a young man's voice: "It's about time. I've been waiting for, like, forever or something. Geeze." The…person rolled their eyes and looked away a frown settling on their features.
Alfred blinked. "W-what?" he gaped. He just couldn't wrap his poor mind around what was coming out of (her?) mouth.
Snapping their gaze back to Alfred, the young he-she glared at him, green eyes piercing through to his core, eating at his heroic pride. "What do you mean, 'what?' I've been waiting to be, like, rescued," the person used their fingers to form quotation marks. "For, like, a really long time. You had better have brought a spaceship with you, or we're, like, totally screwed."
Alfred stared for a long moment at the young blonde before him, still trying to sort out the gender of the voice and why it was coming out of the mouth of such a pretty young lady. After a few seconds of staring, he decided it really didn't matter why, because he was the hero and he would save whoever they were, even if their voice was trying its' best to destroy his sense of reality.
He shook his head and grinned, offering the lady his hand. "My name is Alfred F. Jones, Miss. It is an honor to be rescuing you this fine morning."
The person sniffed indignantly. "Like, whatever. But, I'm not a Miss. I'm a mister." He glanced down at Alfred's offered hand with a look of disgust, nose crinkling. "And your hand is filthy." He gingerly pushed Alfred's arm away with a finger.
Alfred looked at the young…man…before him and blinked, his large, sapphire blue eyes showing his confusion clearly. He then looked at his black, leather gloves. He didn't think they were that dirty- only a few oil stains…and maybe a spot of pizza sauce.
While Alfred was pre-occupied with his hand, the boy made a huffing sound and stood up impatiently. "Well? Are we, like, getting off this rock or not? My agent said it was, like, a nice place to stay and dropped me off for, like, a month. But, like, I can't take it, so I have to, like, get out, now." The boy placed his hands firmly on his hips once again and began, tapping his toe impatiently upon the pristine grass.
Alfred looked up, still lost. "Oh…um…ok."
"Well? Are you, like, going to rescue me or what?" The girly man's eye twitched slightly.
Alfred hopped up quickly. "Oh! That's right! Yeah! Ok, so, my ship's over that way." Pointing his finger in the general direction of the clearing, he said, "It's not far, I promise."
The boy, Feliks, as he promptly informed Alfred he was called, smiled brightly. "Well, that's, like, cool and stuff. I can't wait to see it. Like, thanks for the lift, pretty-boy." And with that, the boy was off through the trees humming some unknown tune to himself. Alfred scrambled to his feet and followed as fast as he could, trying to keep the blonde on the right track to his spaceship.
Arthur stood proudly in front of his gorgeous vessel, patting its glimmering surface. The sleek star-fighter shone silver in the light of the rising sun. The breeze ruffled his already-messy straw-coloured hair as he gazed at his newest acquisition. He had stolen this beauty from some poor sap that thought he was an admiral of the Royal Navy. Arthur chuckled to himself, remembering the look on the poor bastard's face as he made off with the magnificent vessel, truly one of a kind, filled to the brim with raucous space pirates, making faces out the portholes.
Arthur was their captain, and not just any pirate captain. He was Captain Kirkland and his was the most feared and successful crew of pirates in the known universe. The greatest attribute to their undeniable success was Arthur's outstanding leadership and no-nonsense attitude. He always knew how to assess any situation and turn it into a huge heist, always taking his victims by utter surprise. Arthur smiled smugly to himself. No-one had out-smarted him, yet, and he didn't plan on being out-smarted any time soon.
It just so happened that his crew had also intercepted a distress call that morning, just as the hero had, coming from none other than Feliks Łukasiewicz, a galaxy-renowned film star and model. The plan was simple: zoom down to the planet's surface and kidnap the boy under the guise of saving him. Then, ransom him for a pretty penny. It was fool-proof…just as long as they were the first ones there.
Arthur glared at the heap of junk next to his beautiful star-craft, emerald eyes glinting. The offending pile of trash was red-ish brown and looked as though it had been thrown together and taped. (Little did he know, it had been thrown together and lovingly, carefully taped.) He didn't have a clue as to how it got there or why it seemed to be in one piece, but he was sure the person flying it was there for Feliks. The smallest of snorts permeated the air as he tried to imagine the hunk of scrap taking flight. Regardless, he had no intention of watching someone else fly away with his prize.
Folding his arms across his chest, Arthur waited. His bright red velvet waistcoat, trimmed in gold blew around his legs with the breeze. He was a patient man. He could wait and kidnap the movie star from whatever idiot was flying the broken excuse for a machine next to him. Arthur leaned up against his beautiful craft, scanning the glen for any sign of movement.
And then he heard it: a rather loud rustling through the trees to his left. Turning his head, Arthur unfolded his arms and pulled out his old-fashioned laser pistol. This favored weapon was an antique, about 150 years old, made to look like an old ball pistol used by pirates on Earth I in the 1700s (only with a lot more punch). Arthur ran his fingers lovingly over the beautifully crafted wood and iron.
It was his most prized possession, one of the only things he had gotten honestly through hard work and not through stolen money. As a young lad on The Planet of United Great Britain, Arthur had first spotted the pistol in the window of an antique weapons shop. He decided he would buy it, no matter how much he had to pay. The young man worked day and night, doing odd jobs for anyone he could find until he finally earned enough to pay for it. It took him several starving years, but he managed and found his toils completely worth it. As soon as he had the weapon in his hands, he knew what he had to do: he had to become the most feared pirate captain in all the known universe…and true to himself, he had done it.
Arthur held the pistol, calmly pointing it in the direction of the noise. And he waited.
Alfred began to wonder if they had gotten lost. It really shouldn't have taken so long to get to his ship. He was beginning to miss his 'Baby.'
"When are we, like, going to get there?" Feliks whined. "My feet are, like, killing me. We must have walked, like, five kilometers already."
Alfred shot him an encouraging smile. "Don't worry," he said. "We'll be there soon." He really didn't remember it taking that long to find Feliks in the first place, but he was the hero and he could do anything, especially find his own space-ship.
Looking to the woods ahead, Alfred began to notice a break in the trees. "I think that's it." He pointed excitedly and grinned at the boy next to him.
Feliks folded his arms over his chest and continued walking. "Like, it's about time. I'm tired."
Alfred smiled and walked proudly into the clearing, arms spread dramatically. "And here's…" Alfred gawked. Next to his 'Baby' was parked a bright silver star-ship. He could swear it wasn't there before. It dwarfed his tiny craft, towering over it by at least twenty meters. It was like comparing a luxury cruise liner to a one-man life-raft.
Feliks came up from behind him and stood next to him. "So, that's yours, huh? Not too bad. I think it could, like, use a paint-job, though." The boy seemed to catch sight of something and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. He pointed his finger at Alfred's ship. "What's that? It looks like a pile of scrap-metal."
Alfred realized Feliks was dissing his ship and puffed up angrily. "Hey, that's my 'Baby' you're talking about."
"What?" The boy looked slightly taken aback. "That thing's yours? Like, how can it possibly fly?" He turned white as he realized what that implied. He was expected to ride in it; a faint was on the rise.
"You don't expect me to, like, get in that thing, do you?" Shaking his head in a panic, he began to step backward, away from the wreck.
"Well, yeah. She's my Baby and she runs real nice." Alfred smiled proudly. Then, he noticed just the colour Feliks' face was turning. "Hey, are you ok? You look white as a sheet." A worried look spread across his features. "Look, just sit down for a minute. You look like you're gonna' be sick." He stepped forward to take Feliks' hand and make him sit down, when he noticed that the boy wasn't looking at his ship any more.
The boy was gazing off to the right where the behemoth of a ship was moored. A smallish man wearing a rather spiffy-looking jacket and tall leather boots was standing and seemed to be holding a smallish, rather spiffy-looking laser gun, lazily pointed in their direction. His image reeked of pirate.
Alfred grinned at him, waving. "Hey, man. Don't you look shnazzy. We don't mean any harm. Just takin' this guy home so he can rest and relax. You can put the gun down. I'm not gonna' hurt you." As he was talking, Alfred walked forward slowly, inching his way closer to the man with the gun. The pirate didn't lower his weapon. "Hey, didn't you hear me? I said I'm not gonna' hurt you. I just wanna' get this guy behind me rescued. That's all."
He got about 5 meters from the man with the gun before Arthur shot. He shot and missed, purposefully of course. He only wanted to scare the (obviously stupid) American dog.
In spite of himself, Alfred jumped. "Hey, man! Watch it. You could'a' killed me!"
Arthur smirked. "Well, of course, you yankee git. It's a gun. It's aimed at you. And if you don't stop moving, it will be aimed and fired right through your thick skull." A thick British accent wound itself around and through his words, making them sound more authoritative than they would have from anyone with the exception of, perhaps, a German.
Alfred was confused. He knew there were people who didn't like him saving the universe, but he'd never met one in person. He supposed this was a great time to learn why, so he asked.
"Why?"
It was an incredibly innocent question, throwing Captain Kirkland for a loop. "W-what do you mean, 'why,' you mangy Scotts git?" His thick eyebrows arching up momentarily only to fall heavily over his eyes again, knitted. "If you don't stop coming near me, I'll blow your blasted brains out."
"Why would you do that?" Alfred asked, his blue eyes showing his genuine confusion.
"B-because, you-you're in my way." Arthur floundered a bit, trying to stay on top of it. Talking to the young man seemed much like talking to an over-grown four-year-old, and he would never, ever, shoot a child.
Alfred brightened at the answer. "Oh! I see, now!" He stood up a bit straighter. "What if I were to get out of your way? Would you stop threatening to shoot me?" He stepped two paces to the right.
Arthur was speechless. He really felt like he was talking to a child, and a particularly dense one at that. He lowered his weapon to point at the ground. "That-that…That would be fine."
Alfred grinned like he'd learned something rather important: like he'd just found the answer to peace in the galaxy. And he believed he had. "Cool. You go whatever way you like and I won't get in your way."
Arthur looked unsure of himself and took a few tentative steps toward Feliks. Then it hit him: it had to be a trap! He quickly whirled on Alfred, pointing the dangerous pistol at the ridiculous boy's smiling face. "No funny business, right? You're not going to do anything funny, right, you git?"
Alfred looked confused again. "Why would I do that? What good would that do? I don't hurt people. I'm going to save the galaxy!" He said that last bit with conviction and the grin re-plastered itself to his face.
"Really?" Arthur was a bit perplexed. The American didn't have any idea who he was, did he?
"Yup! I'm gonna' save it one person at a time!" Alfred flashed a thumbs-up.
"Mn. Well, good luck with it and all that rot." Arthur lowered his gun again and began to turn back to Feliks, less wary of the American. As he turned, he caught sight of something grey as it danced past his vision out of the corner of his eye. There was a sudden burst of color before the pirates' eyes and intense pain in his left temple that surged through his entire body. He remembered seeing Alfred's worried face as he fell forward and blacked out.
Next thing he knew, Captain Kirkland found himself waking up in the clearing, deserted except for the pile of trash that was Alfred's 'Baby.' His ship was gone. He was alone.
While Arthur and Alfred had been occupying each-other, Feliks had crumpled to the ground. He knew the pirates had come for him. He knew it would happen sooner or later. It was just a matter of time.
He sat on the ground, knowing the tears would come, but for some reason they didn't. He looked around on the ground for something to protect himself with.
His eyes fell on a large, grey stone, about the size of his palm. The perfect size for throwing.
Feliks, in his early career, had plenty of time for sports, and he especially loved old-fashioned baseball. He was a pretty good pitcher a few years ago, playing with his friends from school. Feliks only hoped he still had it in him.
He got shakily to his feet and held the stone in his right hand. He imagined the field. It was the bottom of the ninth. Bases were loaded. The opposing team's best hitter was up to bat. He needed to get one more strike to win the game. He wheeled back and threw.
The crowd in his head went wild as the man crumpled to the ground. He had done it! He had gotten the pirate square in the back of the skull, dropping him to the forest floor. He quietly celebrated to himself. Then he reluctantly forced himself back to reality.
In reality, he had missed.
Feliks stared at the back of the English pirate, still completely absorbed with talking to Alfred. He hadn't even gotten remotely close. The rock had landed about 3 meters to the right of the two men.
Hurriedly, Feliks looked around on the ground for another small rock. He couldn't find any. All he found was a rather large stone. He sighed. It would have to do.
Feliks picked up the rock and walked directly up behind the distracted Englishman. He lifted it high above his head, and just as Arthur was turning around, slammed it down, cracking the Brit over the side of the skull, knocking him out cold.
Alfred stared in disbelief. How could the pretty, young man hurt someone like that? He watched as Feliks dumped the rock on the grass next to the pirate and dusted off his hands.
Feliks looked up. "Well? Like, shouldn't we get going before he wakes up?" The boy crossed his arms.
Alfred blinked, and then he looked down at Arthur. Crouching down, Alfred rolled the pirate over so he could breath. After making sure the man was in need of this gesture, he stood up.
"I guess we should get going, shouldn't we?" He smiled and it faltered a bit. He tried again. This time it stayed. He tried a grin. That worked out pretty well, so he left it there.
Problem solved, the hero turned towards his Baby.
There was the sound of a throat clearing behind him. Alfred looked back. Feliks was tapping his foot on the ground impatiently again.
"What?" He turned around, confused.
"I'm not, like, getting in that sad excuse for a pile of trash. You're going to, like, fly that." Felix nodded in the direction of the huge space-craft.
Alfred looked longingly to his ship. "But…"
"No buts. I am so getting off this rock and if you're, like, going to save me, it's, like, not going to happen in that thing. You can come back and get it later. No one is, like, going to take it. Just, like, get me out of here." And with that, Alfred's arm was grabbed in a surprisingly-powerful grip and he was hauled up the steps and through the hatchway of luxurious space-ship.
Feliks dragged him to the control room and directed him on launching the beast of a craft into the sky. Alfred gazed sadly out the window of the cockpit, into space, and down to the planet below. He sighed and pressed a kiss to his gloved fingers, pushing them up to the glass; a silent promise to come back to his Baby.
"Will you like, get on with it? I have an agent to, like, fire or something when we get back to civilization."
With that, Alfred put the ship in gear and shot the vessel into outer space, away from his Baby and away from Captain Arthur Kirkland.
A.N. Chapter 2 will come out some point in the future. For one thing, I'm a busy college student and for another, she has to edit it. It may be a little while, but, hopefully, the wait will be worth it. Questions and comments are always appreciated.