Chapter Text
[Portsmouth, New Hampshire, 1905]
There’s an ocean in each of Alfred’s eyes, as carefree as a wave crashing to shore and as deep as a lost torpedo. They have speckles of gold like islands dotting a map, waiting to be liberated by the sun. If you ask, Alfred will laugh and croon sweetly and say they are the color of the sky, but Kiku knows better. They are beautiful and they are hiding corpses.
It’s during a political negotiation that Kiku finds himself staring into them, trying to decipher every secret that swam beneath their depths. To his right sat one of his advisors, and to his left was Ivan. The larger man shifted in his seat, nervously adjusting his collar.
Every so often, Kiku would scuff his shoe underneath the table, watching as Ivan winced yet did nothing about it. His light eyes were full of permafrost, a cold that once bit everything that touched it, but was now melting from the humiliation of the sun.
With a small, polite smile, Kiku internally preened, his focus momentarily averted from the American that sat across from him. How large are you now, now that I’m here, Kiku thought to himself as he kicked Ivan again, this time stepping down on the other’s foot as hard as he could.
“It’s been agreed, then, that the Empire of Japan shall retain its claim on the south of Sakhalin…”
Kiku’s head snapped up, shocked out of his thoughts by the new declaration. His eyes narrowed as he stared into the ones across the table, black meeting blue.
“With all due respect, Mr. Jones, the Empire of Japan’s peace terms were to retain the entire island,” Kiku clenched his teeth, a dull pain traveling throughout his jaw.
“I’m afraid this is a peace treaty, Mr. Honda. It’s a compromise. I mean, you can’t expect Russia to give up both his Manchurian railroad and all of Sakhalin. You got to give and take a little here,” Alfred shook his head and leaned back in his chair.
The younger man smirked, cocking his head because he could, “Don’t worry. You’ll get it eventually.”
The world turned red in Kiku’s eyes, and it took all he had in him not to jump out of his seat right then and there– to unsheathe the sword that should have been at his waist and to plunge it into the younger man’s chest. But instead, he must sit, steady his breathing, and keep his expression blank. He could not be anyone other than who they expected him to be.
Still, the thoughts raced through his head: “Arrogant child. I’ve killed men for lesser. I’ve negotiated peace between the daimyō before you were even conceived.”
But instead, all he could say was: “Sir, our delegation will only accept this offer if Russia agrees to pay an indemnity for our troubles.”
He gazed into those blue eyes again, trying to decipher any weakness that he could exploit, but all he saw was his own eyes in their reflection– a black ship, sailing through islands of gold. The soldier inside him flared with jealousy.
So wrapped up in the other man across the table, Kiku realized he forgot about the Russian sitting beside him. The larger man spoke loudly, purposefully close to Kiku’s ear.
“An indemnity is a ridiculous request for peace negotiations,” Ivan bit out sharply, unlike his regular softer tone.
Kiku noted his clenched first and refrained from smiling at it. At least he had the upper hand somewhere.
“Then we are at an impasse. We will hope to resume negotiations soon, sirs,” Kiku motioned for his delegation to stand as he rose from his own seat, but not before accidentally stepping over Ivan’s shoe one last time.
He glanced down at Alfred’s shoes, a brand-new pair, and imagined what it would be like to scuff their shine.
Would it satiate that violent pit within him, the one that had been carved into his chest by a cannonball and an unequal treaty? Would it pluck the golden islands out of Alfred’s eyes and put them in his own? Would it unearth the corpses beneath the pacific floor?
Or would it leave him wanting? For the respect he could never have. For more.
As the delegations filed out of the room, Kiku glanced back one last time with a vain hope that maybe, he would find a look of hatred staring back at him. Just maybe, the arrogance was an act of fear, that Alfred knew the anger before him and resented it, just as much as he did.
But he turned back and saw that Alfred’s eyes were on Ivan, and he couldn’t even process what emotion was in them. All he could see were the corpses.