Hi there! New fic here for my wonderful but neglected OTP; I really love writing stuff set in the ancient world, so it's about time I typed something out for RomeChu.

Things to Note:

This fanfic is based on a whole lot of historical ifs and maybes as, although China and Rome had little direct contact, there are a few instances throughout history where there are theories that they did in fact meet, such as during the 36 BC Battle of Zhizhi and, later, via emissaries in 166 CE. Also, sources are pretty hazy on all of it, so I tried to go with the most reliable source each time to support my own knowledge.

Thanks for reading!

Serica

I

2015

The light flashed on the sign above the plane's centre seating, indicating that seatbelts could now be unclipped. In the seat next to me, Hong Kong was fiddling with some handheld gaming contraption, having had his headphones plugged rudely into his skull for the entirety of the journey.

I elbowed him sharply in the side.

"Nuh?"

"We've landed, hurry up!"

Next to Hong Kong, Macau laughed behind one hand, "We mustn't be late, right, Teacher?" His tone was overly gentle.

...Stop treating me like a doddering old man, aru...

We were the only three nations aboard this particular plane, though all of us would be present in the city for the string of conferences scheduled to take place all throughout this week. And, yes, that did mean everyone. Of course, not every single world power could be in the same room at once, so many different meetings were to be held, organised into different topics such as the environment, loan repayments, treatment concerns...not everyone need attend every meeting, thus making the whole sorry ordeal ridiculous and drawn-out.

And then there was location to deal with.

Hong Kong and Macau had stayed over at my place before we left; I'd called them up personally to ask if they wanted to travel together. Hong Kong's going through some sort of rebellious phase (of which I credit wholeheartedly to Britain, that bastard), and so initially turned me down, but my polite child – Macau – managed to talk his younger brother round in the end.

I stood up and gestured for the others to follow; Macau had been sitting in the alley seat and so both Hong Kong and I had to wait for him to stop gesturing "after you, after you" before we could move. And then we filed out in silence, along the plane and through the plastic blue tunnel into the airport itself.

As the queue marched on, I stretched my limbs. We'd been on that damned plane for almost eleven hours, squished into economy seating because I damn well refuse to pay those inflated prices they charge in business and first class. The cheek of those companies!

See, this wouldn't happen on China Airlines! No, only stupid Western companies like Alitalia charge for-

"Pft," Next to me, Hong Kong's shoulders bounced slightly as he barely tried to conceal a sudden bout of inappropriate laughter.

"What is it, aru?" I was not a patient man today, and I did not have the time nor energy to deal with that child.

"Ah, Teacher should be careful, getting all stressed like that," The boy cooed, "Don't wonna, like, throw your back out or something."

"...You better hope that beating children is against Italian law, aru..."

Hong Kong's words shouldn't have annoyed me – it wasn't like the boy was being particularly original, after all – but I found myself tensing up.

...I really was in a state, huh? It was my first time back on Roman soil – Italian soil, I reminded myself – in just over one-thousand-four-hundred years. I really was in a state.

"Doesn't your passport say you're, like, twenty-six?"

"Be quiet, Hong Kong."

The passport desks were in sight and we passed through them easily. Not like we'd ever look any different from our photos or anything. We were simply the 'Wang' family: three brothers here under the stamp of 'business'. In a of couple weeks, we'd leave again and go somewhere else, always under the same premise. Simple.

"I'll go look for our bags." Macau suggested helpfully, leaving me and Hong Kong standing in typical silence, he with his back slouched and hands stuffed purposely in his pockets and me trying (really trying) not to chide him for it.

It's weird how you love your family, no matter how irritating they turn out. And, equally, too; I have eight younger siblings I consider myself responsible for and I honestly do love them all the same.

I felt the first pull of a smile on my lips, my first real smile since I received the group message about where this time's meetings were to be held.

Last time I was in Rome, I only had the one brother, though I hadn't quite realised it yet, and that was Japan. To think he used to be cute once upon a time! Now all he does is pretend we're not related and watch those silly moving cartoon things with the girls and the cat ears. Don't think I don't know about that!

Of course, Korea was alive back then too, but he was neither South nor North, and things were different. Oh, and Vietnam was around, but things there were...well, they were very different. Vietnam was not young and green like Japan and Korea were at that time, after all.

In fact, many of my fellow Asian nations were around in some form or another back then. But, well...it was just different. I was different.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Macau waving at us, snapping me out of my thoughts. By his feet were our bags – all of them, by my count – which he'd successfully retrieved from the carousel. Standing by his side was someone familiar.

"Ah, Taiwan!" I called with forced cheer. She was only slightly younger than Hong Kong and yet still hadn't gone through the whole 'teenage phase', which was yet more proof that his mood swings had been taught by that caterpillar-browed, sorry excuse for a-

I'm getting off point.

Taiwan waved back and hurried over to join us, carrying my bags for me whilst Macau slung his over his shoulder and Hong Kong toddled over to get his own.

...I won't break just by carrying heavy objects, aru...

"You shouldn't use our country names in public." Taiwan chided jokingly, her eyes closing with her smile, as they often did. It was a family trait.

"We're speaking Mandarin, not Italian – no-one will pick up on it." I said simply. Having Taiwan here made me feel a little better about forcing Hong Kong and Macau to speak Mandarin, as this was her official language as well as my preferred. The boys used Cantonese, which can be a hassle for me to quickly switch into these days.

"True." Taiwan nodded. She wasn't always so agreeable, at least not to me, but she was almost always positive.

We started walking towards the airport's exit doors in the hope of hailing a taxi outside. Hong Kong muttered something about how we should have called up for one first, but I ignored him.

"I do like my human name, though." Taiwan continued.

"You're Xiao Mei at the moment, aren't you?" It was Macau who made the polite enquiry, holding open the door for his little sister as he spoke.

"Mm-hm. I was Lin Yi Ling for a while, but other nations tended to get confused with the pronunciation somehow. Weird, huh? Oh, but, call me Meimei, please!"

I'd never changed my name before – never much saw the point in it. There were plenty of people with the name 'Wang Yao' in China anyway, so it wasn't as if I ever had to change it in order to stay with the times. Besides, things work a little differently in China, in regards to who's aware of the existence of nations. It's an older system, built on older principals – I was one of the Originals, after all – and so there's less of a risk of being found out, and fewer repercussions if I am.

A hand appeared on my shoulder and I jumped.

"You, like, OK and everything, Teacher?" It was Hong Kong, his lips paused together in a way that said I'd done something to arouse concern.

"Hm? Yes, of course I'm OK." I raised a hand to bat him loose but he didn't move.

"You sure? You seem all, like, distracted." A pause. "You know what Italy's roads are like, after all: lose focus for a minute and you also lose a leg."

"I'm not going to be run over, aru! I'm fine."

Hong Kong removed his grip and went to join the others in tracking down a cab. Silently, I apologised for moaning about the boy for the greater part of the morning; he really did care about me, and I him. I was just crabby and uncomfortable in myself just now, no-one else, but I wasn't about to admit that out loud.

Within a few minutes, Macau waved us over to a clean, white vehicle and pulled open the passenger-side door for me. Apparently Taiwan was coming with us and I was to pay for the group fare. Obviously.

It was then that things truly started to go wrong.

The taxi driver opened his mouth to, presumably, ask us where we were headed. But when he spoke the words were...wrong. He had the right accent, but he wasn't speaking any Italian dialect I'd ever heard of, and I wasn't here that long ago. I mean, although my own languages were different years ago, the changes in the Middle Kingdom vocabulary and intonation were at least mappable. But this was...this strange mismatch of faux-Latin tones was...foreign to me.

It was a whole other tongue.

"Mi dispiace, non parli italiano, signore?" The driver was still talking.

Macau cut in and answered him, using that same strange dialect that he somehow knew and must have also used when asking the man if he could drive for them. The driver gave an exaggerated thumbs-up before speeding off down the road, no doubt on route to the hotel Hong Kong had been unwisely trusted with booking.

And, of course, things got progressively worse from there.

I don't know if you are capable of sparing empathy here, but it is an odd feeling, seeing your past so...laid bare, as I saw it just now.

In China – in my land – buildings from years ago were almost always made from wood, though they still lasted well. And, although it is odd to see places which you once considered your 'family' home become museums, at least they are still standing in a way that is not insulting to their former glory.

But Rome is different.

Everywhere, littering the roadsides and peeking around newer structures, I could see him. Not the man, of course, but his pride, his spirit.

His city: it was everywhere, yet it was also nowhere, and all at once.

Crumbling, all at once.

Alive, but dying. Ever so slowly dying.

And then I saw it, the final straw, and it wasn't the camel's back that was broken, but my own. It was as if I had suddenly broken.

Long over a millennium had passed and yet it was only at that moment, precisely that moment, that I came to the realisation. The realisation that he wasn't coming back, not ever. That he had grandsons to succeed him and that they themselves were now thriving. That, no matter how long I had cruelly pretended Italy had never truly come into existence, time had drudged ever on.

What I saw was his Coliseum.

The driver halted the car as traffic began to build up due to the vast influx of tourists the Coliseum had always brought about. The only difference now to then were the flashes of the crowds' hi-tech cameras whereas, if one had wished to bring a pictorial memory home with them years ago, they would have had to have purchased pottery from one of the many smart-mouthed vendors who once lined the roadside here. But some things yet remained unchanged: the tourists still spoke in a hundred different tongues, still chattered excitedly as they looked this way and that, still bought cheap souvenirs sold at what I guessed to be extortionate prices.

Only those souvenirs, I thought with a laugh, were now made in China. I'd count that as my little win, then.

But it was sad, more than anything. The building, I mean.

Did they still hold events here? Probably not gladiatorial fights, but maybe theatre performances or the like? But I guess not.

As the car zoomed off, I forced my eyes away from my window, from the sorry remains of that once great treasure and the buzzing in my ears which, if I let myself focus on, became the jeering of a crowd long since lifeless and the hum of anticipation which swarmed around their once glossy heads.

Instead, I made myself stare at my lap, and pretend.

The taxi screeched to an abrupt halt before a far too expensive hotel which only served to remind me I should have taken Hong Kong's taste for luxury into account before giving him the privilege of booking accommodation.

The boy in question handed me my bag which Taiwan had packed into the taxi's boot for me before we set off on the car journey down memory road. "The others are, like, gonna meet us inside."

"Others?" My brow creased visibly, but Hong Kong merely nodded.

Huh.

We never usually stayed all in the same hotel.

But, then, this was a World meeting after all, so everyone was physically in the same city, which made a change. A nice change, obviously.

"Meetings start this afternoon, so get checked in and pack your stuff away quickly, aru!" I commanded my small legion, who each nodded their replies. "We've got a conference on globalisation, followed by a discussion of global police standards. Some of you have other meetings, I think, but that's all we have together."

Police standards were fine, but globalisation meetings were always a pain for me. When were these naïve children going to realise that China is the second largest economy on this earth, and the largest manufacturer? I am the globalisation King! But, no, the Japanese yen is somehow more 'important' than my yuan! The cheek of it!

The hotel's interior was just as grand as its outside, with low-hanging chandeliers and rose-tiled floors which I would have associated more with Paris than with Rome. Off to one side, a small, quaint sitting area was set up, with spotless white sofas and misted-glass coffee tables.

Seated there, cups of something warm and steaming in hand, were Japan, Vietnam and Thailand.

South Korea was worryingly absent.

Taiwan waved and rushed over to sit by Japan's side, tossing her bags heavily atop one of the low-lying glass tables. Hong Kong had plonked himself down, next to a stiff-backed Vietnam who smiled politely as her brother kicked up his feet and broke out his Nintendo Vita Boy, or whatever he called this latest plaything of his; Macau and Thailand struck up a jovial conversation about something wholly unconnected to our reasons for being here.

"Don't worry, I'll check in, aru..." I heard myself mumble bitingly. No-one was listening, anyway.

Although they were too busy relaxing to care, I organised for an attendant to take our bags up to our rooms for us. I think he expected a tip for his troubles, but a week here would probably end up with me having to mortgage Beijing, so I refused to give him one. I mean, honestly, did they grate little flakes of gold over your breakfast to make it worth that price?!

I left the younger ones discussing sight-seeing plans by making excuses that I was tired and needed a lie down, which wasn't exactly a lie. Hong Kong still eyed me with suspicious concern – he knew me the best out of anyone alive, after all – but ultimately said nothing.

I carried my own bags properly for the first time since we set off. And I took the stairs, because I could. I was not decrepit yet! I was still a world power.

When I saw a door with a number which corresponded to that on my key card, I stopped abruptly, momentum lost.

Ramming the card into the door of what was to be my room for the duration of our stay, I tried to remain calm. I was alone now, with no young dependents watching my every move. Well, almost alone – other guests roamed the corridors, and I couldn't react in front of them.

But, you see, I needed to react. I needed to.

In my desperation to be quick, the card seemed to miss the slot every time I tried to put it in, or I somehow managed to remove it before the tiny, vile little light flashed green and the unnecessarily modern mechanism unlocked itself.

Finally, I did it, I was in. I heard the door pull itself to behind me. Lights flickered on in response to my movements, but I didn't move far, just sort of...folded. Folded in on myself, fell to the carpet and didn't try to stand back up again because no-one could see me and so what did it matter?

A millennium and a half of denying it, and now there was nowhere left to run.

Distantly, I remembered the last time I'd simply collapsed. That too had been many, many years ago. After all, if there was one thing I'd learnt in all my relentless years it was that snivelling got you nowhere, whereas biting your lip and fighting kept you moving, even if it was just at a walking pace.

I am a proud man – proud, even, of the fact that I have always been proud. And so it is only with a certain...bitterness that I admit that my back slid down the firmness of that hotel door, that I sank to my knees and that I choked on the tears I'd been holding back for so many long, long years.

I loved him.

I had loved him for almost two-thousand years.

Not as a brother, nor a teacher. Or, at least, it was not that way in the end.

And as I cried I remembered, desperate and hysterical, the way his lips curved up further on the left side than the right when he smiled, and how his eyes crinkled in the corners when he laughed. Stupidly, I let myself imagine that the solid expanse of the door at my back was the firm baulk of his chest, that the insistent beat of my heart was fast and my face red because I was young and smitten and silly once more.

With hands which shook, I reached for my hair-band, pulling it out and letting my hair fall free about my shoulders. My hair was shorter now, the tie made of elastic instead of twine, but if I thought about it I could hear him praise its dark straightness, feel his fingers' unchecked curiosity as he played with the loose strands.

He always praised me, despite my relative naïvety and the contrasting sword-calluses which hardened my hands. Despite our differences and my initial rudeness, he'd never been anything short of warm to me.

Rome loved me too, for a time.

I don't know how long I cried for, but by the time I was done my eyes were puffy and the whites looked bloody and pitiful.

I had to get it together before my first meeting started - I'd already made it this far, after all.

I should have a bath, or at least wash my face, but even bathing made me think of him. He was always so fastidious about personal hygiene, a trait I could appreciate.

I twisted myself to look at the bed, but the clean modernism of the arrangement was nothing like the bright tumble of cushions I associated with my time in this city years ago.

I could have a nap, at least, to recover my energies.

Mi dispiace, non parli italiano, signore? – Sorry, do you not speak Italian, Sir

The meeting house for the next however-many-weeks-it-took-for-agreements-to-come-to-a-head was only a short walk away from our hotel. It made sense, of course: why wouldn't an expensive hotel be positioned right next to the general business district? But, either way, I didn't much feel up to travelling.

I met with the others in the lobby around half an hour before the first talks of the day were supposed to begin. Everyone else was already there.

Except, notably, for South Korea.

"It's unusual for you to be late!" Taiwan called. Since I'd last seen her she had changed into a suit jacket and pencil skirt, small briefcase in hand. "We've been waiting near-on six minutes now." Her tone wasn't annoyed, but her eyes weren't as wide or clear as they'd been this morning, meaning she was at least a little bit bothered by the wait.

"Where's South Korea, aru?" I cast my eyes around the lobby, but there was still no sight (nor sound) of the nation in question.

It was Japan who answered. "I met with him at the airport, but he ran off after a while. Ah, I brought his bags back for him, though, so he's definitely intending to stay here."

"Right."

We hurried off then, no-one talking (unusual as that may seem), down historic streets and through honking traffic, each clad in dark business attire, complete with uncomfortable shoes. I stared at those shoes for most of the journey.

The building, when we arrived, stood without need for pomp or glamour – it was a functional, basic stone structure that had perhaps been erected in the late nineteen-fifties, early sixties at latest.

We filed in, some faceless drone (read: government employee) handing out itineraries at the door. As I've said already, talks on the globalisation of trade were up first, so my family members would all be there, each of us being fairly major exporters. Well, maybe not Vietnam and Thailand so much, but I thought they should be there, so they were going.

The conference room itself was a large, open affair, with a grand circular table at its centre-point and a handful of smaller tables scattered about the edges of the space for side deals. Before any side deals could commence, however, the main meeting had to have taken place, so we each spread out to find our designated seats, indicated by a small version of our national flags. The majority of countries were present already, but rules dictated we must wait for the host nation to arrive before talks could begin, and so we waited.

And we were waiting for Northern Italy.

Japan sat two seats down from me, scribbling into a note-less notepad without looking at the pages.

"Oi, Japan?" I called over to him, causing him to flinch and shield the pad with one hand. "You're friends with that Italy kid, right, aru? Any idea when he plans to turn up?"

My little brother merely shook his head.

"Germany isn't here either." He said simply, and I gritted my teeth. Germany was always early to meetings, so if he was late there had to be a good reason, and I was guessing that reason was a certain Italian, damn them both!

Ugh, why now? Why here?

I just wanted to go home!

...

OK, no, this wasn't working.

Suck it up, aru! You're acting pathetic. Stop whining and deal with it; better late than never, right?

Teeth still grinding together, I poured myself some water from one of the bottles which were always close at hand for conferences such as these and drank deeply. What I wouldn't give for that water to be baijiu right about now! But, alas, I'd have to save getting drunk off my face until the last of the meetings concluded and the after parties commenced. That would be a good time, I told myself.

After what felt to be yet another century gone by, North Italy finally entered the room, blubbering like a fool whilst being dragged in by the collar by a rather irritated looking German.

"We can now begin the meeting." The blonde mountain declared in his own language which, of course, I understood. That would be the last word spoken for now which was not in the host country's own tongue, in a sign of respect for said host nation. (Which meant every meeting from here to however many weeks were to be held in Latin. Brilliant. As if I needed another reminder of days gone by!)

Only, when the more approachable of the two Italians took his seat at the head of the table, the words which came out of his animated mouth weren't Latin.

He spoke with the same peculiar patois as the taxi driver.

I blinked, wide-eyed, as every other nation in the room chipped in and talked over each other, each in that same, foreign vernacular.

When did Italy stop speaking Latin? And, more importantly, why had no-one deigned to tell me?

Not that I planned to admit my inability to understand anything which was being said, that the moment I thought I recognised something the word-ending twisted, transforming it into something irregular and wholly unnecessary.

No-one spoke to me and I obviously didn't try to speak up, just nodded or shook my head condemningly in what I guessed to be the right places. But, of course, this wasn't to last: I am the modern world's globalisation King, after all.

"China?" Italy called, and I choked on my water, spraying liquid on the desk as I coughed. How uncivilised!

But, aiyah, what to do?!

I had to speak back to him, when I'd only recognised my own name due to 'chee-na' sounding awfully like 'ch-eye-na', such as the English-speakers called me.

"Oi, China!" This was the younger of the two Italy brothers now, gesturing angrily from North to me. I heard a word beginning with a sound like 'frater' (fra...fratello? Something like that) and so knew he was talking on his brother's behalf. Probably telling me that Italy had been speaking for some time now, and I had been acting like I couldn't even understand him. Who would have thought it?

Usually, this outward display of aggression would have had me leaning across the desk and sparking off the first fistfight of the day. But I didn't move.

Romano's voice – it was deeper than his Northern counterpart's, the tone more akin to that of his grandfather's. It caught me off guard, and the feeling must have shown on my face as now all the world were silent and staring at me.

The lighter-haired Italy tilted his head, saying something else, slower now, but again with words I could barely trace.

Then, as if a lantern had just been lit in his brain, Italy changed track, speaking in badly enunciated but perfectly understandable Mandarin.

"You don't speak Italian, China?"

I blinked, startled, before catching myself and raising my chin.

"I...I wasn't aware it was a world language, aru." I spoke with dignity, but no-one else seemed to notice; whispers encircled the room.

"But, if the Italians don't speak Italian, then...?" Our host nation appeared genuinely baffled by me, chewing his bottom lip slightly. "What did you think we spoke?"

"Last time I was here they spoke Latin."

The room was quiet once more.

Oddly, it was France who broke the silence, this time with a gasp of "Mon Dieu!"

"Oh, what now, aru? You stupid Westerners are so quick to criticise – it was an easy mistake to make."

"China, mon cher. Latin was replaced by Italian in, hm, the tenth century? I would know – Italy is my dear little brother, after all." Somewhere to my left, the Italian whimpered.

But that wasn't that long ago, really. My face said as much, garnering disbelief wherever I turned.

Instead of a whimper, this time Italy let out a squeak.

"China, China, when?" His eyes were open, sparkling even, "When were you last here? Come on, tell us, tell us please?" Is it possible for your face to heat in annoyance? And what was with the sudden mood change, anyway?

"It was...in the fifth century? Maybe fourth." It wasn't that impressive, but Italy's face was positively aflame with emotion.

"Then you met my grandpa Rome!"

...No, don't say it!

This notion made him ridiculously happy, it seemed. "I thought you'd never seen each other before. I mean, we all know you're old, but-" My glare shut him up promptly. If that man was 'Grandpa Rome' then, what, did that make me 'Grandpa China'? No, was the answer to that! Certainly not.

"It's not all that impressive, Veneziano," Spain chirped up, "We may have been young and maybe named differently at the time, but many of us here knew your Grandpa in some form or another."

"Yeah, I remember him," Britain crossed his arms as he talked, "He and Scotland used to yell at each other over Hadrian's Wall. I don't see why they never got on, myself. I mean, they were both annoying, hairy-legged men who favoured skirts – you would have thought they'd have a lot to talk about."

"Well," Scotland was present today of course, and now stood up, posture stiff but ready, "at least I dinnae just roll over and surrender!"

"Oh, mes amis, fret not: you were both equally barbarous in those days, non?"

"Ohhh, I wanna hear about Britain's wild youth!"

"Shut up America, this does not concern you!"

"Aw, come on..."

A snort as Greece lifted his slumbering head from the table, leaving a smudge mark on the gloss, "...I was there too..."

A chair scraped against the hardwood floor, "Well, I wasn't there," Turkey declared, "But I've sure as Hell had to live with the mess that old bastard left behind. Constantinople my ass!"

Long story short, it was a disaster.

I sighed. No-one was speaking in 'Italian' anymore, just their own languages, and I was probably partially responsible for that. Thinking I should help rein the children in, I scanned the room for Italy, who was blubbing in the corner. Germany hovered at his shoulder, repeatedly moving closer as if he was going to pat the boy's arm before thinking better of it.

"Oi, potato protein shake!" Romano, however, got up and intervened before I had a chance to speak. He was, absurdly, speaking Latin now, as if my earlier comments had made him nostalgic. "What do you think you're doing to my brother, huh? Are you making him cry, you heartless blonde tuber? I bet that makes you feel soooo powerf- Oh, fuck, God, no, stop looking at me like that! You're burning me! Spaaain!"

"...Aiyah..." Looking at the clock above the door only made me more depressed.

Vaguely, I heard Spain's voice trying to talk Romano down from a fight which would no doubt end with someone crying; North Italy wiped at his own tears with his arm.

"Brother, your insults are getting weak."

"Oh? And what would you know?!"

"WOULD EVERYONE PLEASE SHUT UP!" The whole room jumped in their seats as Germany brought the assembly to order. "We need to get back on topic. Now, who here can speak Latin?" A few European and even fewer Asian nations raised their hands. "Right, so we can't speak that either. Italy, any suggestions?"

The Italian merely tilted his head to one side.

"What language would you, as the host nation, suggest we speak in so as we can all communicate?" He enunciated each word carefully in German but Italy simply waved a dismissive gesture.

"China," He was addressing me in Mandarin once more, "What did you think of my Grandpa Rome? You didn't hate him, right?"

"Un, well..." What should I say? In front of my family and the world, what should I say?

"If Grandpa Rome walked into the room right now, what would you do?"

Well, that one I could answer honestly enough.

"I'd spit in his eye and tell him, in no uncertain terms, to leave the room." Someone – I think it was Scotland – let out a cheer.

"What..." Italy's entire person drooped and I felt my overriding fraternal instincts kick in, forcing me to regret my words. "So even you hated him. I mean, I know he really liked conquering stuff, but I just can't see what was not likable about him!"

That's what I thought too, at first.

"We just parted on hard terms is all, aru." Subconsciously, I copied Italy's dismissive wave from before, trying to keep my expression pleasant but apparently failing.

"Why, Chine," It was France again. He was sure talkative today, "You must have pretended Italy didn't exist for years to have such a lack of knowledge of them, hm? After all, it's been well over a millennium since Rome breathed his last. And that expression just now! The way you pressed your lips together. That mixture of longing and dislike! Why, you are acting like a lover scorned!"

Too late I realised that this had been meant merely as a taunt.

Apparently my mouth had fallen agape at the Frenchman's words. I closed it, swallowed. My face was no doubt flush as a peony.

It was as if the whole room blinked at once, slowly coming to the same realisation.

"Wait..." Italy was tilting his head again, "So you...you and my Grandpa..."

"You were Rome's lover?!" France choked. Apparently the 'Country of Love' hadn't been able to guess after all, damn it!

"So, wait," Oh, Shinatty, Hong Kong was in the room, wasn't he? "You're, like, trying to tell me Teacher isn't a four thousand year old virgin?"

"The clue is in the 'four thousand years' part, aru!" I was standing now, having fully remembered my family was with me.

...Wait, did I just admit to something there?

Aiyah!

Two seats down from me, Japan's face was a picture. Stupid fudanshi.

Italy said, "I-I had no idea." And I read between the lines: Rome had never mentioned me, not even to his grandsons. Not even once, not even in passing.

"But then, why do you hate him, if you were...together?" It apparently made Italy turn a pale shade of green to think of me and his grandfather like that. I chose to think it was because of the 'grandfather' part of the equation.

My eyes found their way to the door, then to the hundreds of eyes which followed mine there; I realised then that no-one would let me leave until I said something satisfactory in reply. I settled on the truth, too tired now for anything else.

"Things were different back then – there weren't many of us."

"So?" This was Romano, forceful even in a single syllable.

"So, after two of us met, we stayed in closer contact with each other than nations tend to nowadays, and I was close to him. We were close." The only problem, I didn't add, was Rome was close to a great many people more, and there were a great many miles between us.

And I was very, very naïve.

"OK, hang on a second here, Dudes!" America put a finger to his head, as if in thought. I'd been wondering when he'd put his 'two cents' in, or whatever. "So, China is a chick...?"

"Why on Heaven and Earth would you think that, aru?!"

"Well, you were with Rome, right? And you were like, you know, like that? With Rome! Godfather of the lady killers Rome. Right?" Ugh. Distantly, I wondered what type of reputation I would endure if I were in fact dead and gone like the others.

"...You don't know much about the ancient world, do you, aru?" I said it quietly, not really caring to be heard. America was very young, after all, and grew up highly religious - it would make sense for him to associate ye olden times with being less accepting of different forms of romantic encounter. The reality, of course, tended towards quite the opposite.

Couldn't Greece or someone back me up on this?!

I inhaled, filling my lungs with faux confidence even as I refused to raise my head.

"I'm done talking, aru," I began to move towards the door, limbs surprisingly sluggish. "Carry on the meeting without me – I can't understand you anyway."

I, like any other 'Grandpa' needed a second afternoon nap, it seemed.

...Then maybe, just maybe, I would do some sightseeing. Just me, no-one else.

It was just, after that joke of a World Conference, I needed to see it, needed to see the old Coliseum up close, feel the warm stones of Piazza Navona beneath my feet, check if the Forum still lived and breathed, visit his favourite bathhouse...

I wanted to face it, put a few things to bed like I should have done so many decades ago.

...Although, perhaps those thoughts would change after I'd had my nap.

Thank you for reading!

And how was it? Do you think I got China's voice OK? He's a pretty strong character so getting his voice right is kinda hard.

Next chapter goes back in time to the Battle of Carrhae and goes from Rome's perspective, so please stay tuned for that!