Where the Heart Is

Summary: Italy loved Germany and Japan very much. But it seems that lately he's been drifting further apart from his German lover, and he wants to reconnect with him with the help of his more observant lover. The Axis as a group marriage, Italy-centric. One-shot, fic exchange with Tamer Lorika

A/N: I apologize for this. When Tamer Lorika asked for this as her request, I truly had no idea what to do with it. XD I had only written the Axis on one other occasion, and it was a crack comedy fic that literally took fifteen minutes to write. Hopefully my Axis characters aren't terribly OOC.

And a side note to Tamer Lorika, in particular: I am SO SORRY this took so long to get up. I've been super busy with work and getting ready for school lately, it hasn't even been funny. And to my readers, I am DOUBLY SORRY that I haven't been updating! I worked huge, long shifts at my summer day pretty much every day at my job, and I've been dealing with the college school year the past month. Now that I'm settled in and have a bit of free time (but not a whole lot), I should hopefully have some more time to devote to my beloved readers. I hope that this makes up for my absence and was worth the wait, and please be on the lookout for more updates coming soon!

I also apologize for how short this is. I really had no idea what to do for this request. OTL

~*~*~*~GerItaJap~*~*~*~

Italy wasn't exactly sure when it started, but he knew it had to have been sometime after the first World War. It definitely happened before the second, though, he was sure. It had started with a few casual glances, a few meaningful smiles. And then, one day, they realized that their day-to-day lives had become interwoven like the warp and weft of one of Japan's beautiful silken kimonos. The three of them—Germany, Japan, and Italy—formed the Axis Powers. They always had, since their initial alliance.

But even after the Axis Powers faded away into the streams of time, the three of them remained together in an entirely different way. They became Ludwig, Feliciano, and Kiku—a group of best friends to most of the world, but something entirely different when they were alone together. Italy loved his friends, perhaps more so than what most people would consider normal or acceptable, but for him, it felt right. Germany and Japan were his everything—his best friends, his personal confidents, his protectors, his lovers.

There was an odd, unspoken agreement between the three of them. They never spoke of it, but it was a rule nonetheless. The three of them were lovers—not to any particular other, but to each other. Italy loved Japan and Germany; Germany loved Italy and Japan; and Japan loved Italy and Germany. They didn't limit themselves, but let their instincts and desires direct their actions (though Japan had been far more reluctant at first, he had somehow settled into a relaxed, house wife-like state after the first decade or so).

Italy adored Japan. The slightly skittish Asian nation was beautiful, gorgeous in Italy's eyes. He'd been intrigued by the man's exotic looks at first—the almond-shaped eyes that had that ever-so-slight slant, those perfect little lips, that thin body, and that Mona Lisa smile that always made Italy think that Japan knew more than he was letting on, which was a fact Italy knew to be true. Italy loved Japan's hands most of all. They were soft, with slightly calloused fingertips from playing the koto or samisen at Italy's request. The instruments sounded odd and foreign to Italy's ears, but he liked how foreign and different they sounded. Japan was quick to blush, which Italy found even more adorable on the Asian nation than he would have on a pretty girl. It was difficult to make Japan smile, but when you did, that lovely little upturn of lips made it all worthwhile.

Italy also loved Germany. He had for some time, and when he'd begun to have feelings for Japan, he had been so worried he was getting over his more dominate lover. And he hadn't wanted that. Italy loved Germany just as much as he loved Japan. His heart somehow had room for the both of them inside of it, and he wouldn't question it.

He admired Germany's strength, both of body and character. Italy knew he could trust Germany with his life without a second thought; he knew that he would be in good hands. He loved Germany's strong arms. Even to this day, during relative peace (at least, peace compared to the World Wars—World Meetings were as chaotic as ever), Italy felt safe and protected in his German lover's arms. He loved that shade of blue his eyes were—it had taken him so long to get the right mixture of gray and blue oils to capture them in the one portrait he'd done of Germany that he'd thought worthy of showing to the other. Several hours had been spent just mixing together those two colors, dabs of gray, dashes of blue, over and over until he'd finally gotten it. Germany's smile was even rarer than Japan's, so it was special, even precious. Italy would do whatever it took to see either of his lovers' smiles.

And that was where the problem lay. Italy spent time with Japan, usually cooking dinner or playing music together He loved spending time with his oriental flower—and he loved stealing kisses from the easily-flustered nation, as well. And Japan would smile in that soft, gentle way of his the entire time, the bare corners of his mouth upturned into a little grin that wasn't even noticeable unless you looked very carefully, or you knew what to look for.

But he never spent time like this with Germany.

~*~*~*~GerItaJap~*~*~*~

Italy adjusted his grip on the heavy pot of boiling water that held in it what made up half of that night's dinner. Dinners when the three of them were together were always interesting. They were all so very different—and, as a direct result, so were their cuisines. Italy's foods could meld easily with Germany's, but it was a little more difficult for Japan's preferred rice and fish to find a niche in their diet. Eventually, they forgot about trying to make their meals make sense, and just ate what sounded good at the moment—it wasn't unusual to have chicken primavera with scalloped potatoes, and mochi for dessert. Italy liked these impromptu meals, end even more than eating them, he loved making them.

He watched as Japan began to measure out the correct measurements for his mochi dough. He was making ichigo daifuku, a sweet that Italy had become surprisingly fond of over the years, despite its general blandness. Italy still loved his flavor-packed tiramisu and biscotti, but every once in a while, it was nice to have something that was a little lighter.

"So that's how it is," the Italian finished, looking over to his quieter lover for his advice. Japan always knew what to do in situations like this. There was something about his quiet gentleness that Italy admired and respected, but couldn't quite imitate himself. Japan's affections and care were shown in his actions, rather than words. Italy was the exact opposite, of course, and that was something that flustered the Asian to no end.

"I see," Japan said simply, kneading his dough for a few minutes before walking over to the sink and rinsing his hands of the rice flour that coated them. The man didn't speak for another full minute, meticulously cleaning his hands with soap, scrubbing to get the flour out from beneath each fingernail. Italy didn't understand why he was doing it. He wasn't finished cooking, so his hands would just get dirty again. Then again, Japan always did strange things to stall for time when he was thinking.

"And you haven't attempted to find a hobby that you and Germany-san have in common?" he replied at last. "I know the two of you both enjoy football." That much was true. Unlike Japan, who preferred baseball, the two European countries adored the sport. But they were both extremely competitive when it came to their beloved football, as well. This combination usually ended up in things getting a little too ehated, and Italy crying, to Germany's dismay.

Italy shook his head, flushing a bit. "D…Doesn't work," he replied sheepishly.

"Well, we can try to find something that the two of you can do on a daily basis to spend more time together," Japan replied. "Something you have in common that you won't get too fired up about… Other than sex, before you say that."

Italy frowned, looking a little upset. He did love sex with Germany—very much. He loved the rare times when the three of them would have a little fun together the most (as did Germany, though he would never admit to it), but Japan's reserved nature made that an uncommon happening. But he wanted something for the two of them to do for the sake of spending time together—like his cooking time with Japan. "I want to spend time with Germany, but… what if sex is really all we have in common, Japan?" he asked, concerned and worried. Japan blanched as Italy's tendency to suddenly burst into tears began to rear its ugly head. "What if the only reason we're still together is because we—"

"That's all fine and good, Italy, but I doubt that Germany-san would go through so much trouble for someone he only has an interest in having relations with," Japan interrupted, his usually-pale cheeks a new shade of red that Italy catalogued to attempt to re-create with paint later. "The two of you simply need to find common ground. Why don't you try out some of Germany-san's hobbies and see if there is something the two of you could do together? After all, that's how you found that you enjoyed cooking with me."

Italy smiled brightly, and pulled his lover into his arms, pressing his lips against the black-haired man's with pure excited affection. "Thank you, Japan! You're right! I'll do that…! You're so sweet, listening to me…. Grazie!" Japan turned another newly-catalogued shade of red, sputtering as Italy bounded off to go see about his problem with their other lover….

~*~*~*~GerItaJap~*~*~*~

Italy wasn't sure how it was decided that his time spent with Germany would be spent in the weight room. He had found the German hard at work in the basement, where he had built a makeshift gym filled with exercise equipment and weights. Germany usually spent an hour or two there a day (or more, if he was feeling particularly stressed), so Italy thought that it was, for sure, a good place for the two of them to connect.

How wrong he was.

Instead of being the relaxing bonding time he had been looking for, it had turned into the same kind of "together time" they had training for the World Wars. Germany was harping at Italy like a drill sergeant, lifting a good three times more (probably four or five, actually) and generally yelling at him to "hurry up" or "work harder". Old habits died hard, and even though they hadn't been at war for decades, Germany still had the mentality that had been beaten into him since before the first Great War.

Currently, the poor Italian was struggling to lift what Germany called a "warm-up weight" above his head. It wasn't from lack of effort. Italy wanted to please Germany—and knew that, if he managed this, he would be praised. It was just too difficult for him! "G…Germany, I can't do it," he panted.

"You aren't trying hard enough," Germany replied immediately. "Push harder! If you're going to try and better yourself, you have to mean it, and you have to work hard!" he yelled, his voice echoing slightly in the small space of the basement.

This had definitely been a mistake.

~*~*~*~GerItaJap~*~*~*~

"Weight training with Germany-san was probably a bad idea, Italy," Japan noted, gently cutting a few vegetables on the cutting board in front of them. Japan was making dinner that night, since Italy was a little too depressed to cook. Which was saying something, for the Italian—he always had the desire to boil some water and make some pasta. It was partially for this reason that Japan realized that this was truly bothering Italy. He'd have to find something to help him out, or only trouble would follow.

"I want to spend time with him, though, and all he ever does is work," Italy murmured. "It doesn't matter what he's doing. He takes everything so seriously."

"Is that a problem?" Japan questioned. He knew that, out of the three of them, Italy was the least serious. Japan and Germany were serious personalities—though Germany was far more uptight than Japan was, if it wasn't clothing-related, and that was saying something. But he'd never thought that their personality types could cause trouble between them.

"No!" Italy said immediately, shaking his head quickly. "No…. I've always liked that about the two of you. It's just…. You can relax when you're cooking…. But he can't. Even when he does his hobbies, he never fully relaxes unless he's drunk. I want to spend relaxed time with Germany…."

"Then perhaps you should go to the bar with him," Japan suggested. "He goes every Friday night after dinner, after all."

"It's worth a try," Italy replied, smiling slightly. "Anything is worth a try at this point."

~*~*~*~GerItaJap~*~*~*~

Italy's next idea was no better. The poor nation was about dead already, crying as he hugged the bar in front of him. Logically, his next step had been to go drinking with his lover, because Germany loved his alcohol, and loved going to the bar even more.

While Italy could handle his wine just fine, he found that Germany's beer was a little more difficult for him. A wine was something special—something to be savored, something to drink slowly. And he usually ate with wine. The beer served at the German tavern, however, was far different than his preferred alcoholic beverage of choice. It had a nuttier flavor than the fruity one he adored. Drinking on an empty stomach hardly made things better for him, and the alcohol was hitting him hard.

He hiccupped, whimpering as he hugged the tankard to himself, shaking and looking more than a little miserable. His vision was swimming, and he felt a little queasy to his stomach. In contrast, Germany seemed almost unaffected, though they had both consumed the same amount of alcohol. Italy found himself to be a little jealous of that. He didn't drink as much as Germany did, but he still felt like he should be able to keep up with him. It wasn't like they were Japan—the poor man couldn't hold his liquor at all, and hated going to the bar. Such a thing was mostly Germany's forte.

He hiccupped again, and nearly toppled off his bar stool. He felt sick now. He wanted to go to the bathroom, but he was afraid that he would throw up, afraid that he would pass out. His head was swimming even worse now, and he heard a small groan escape his lips.

He heard a low laugh from behind him, and felt familiar arms wrap around him, picking him up. "Bis wir gehen, liebling," Germany murmured into his ear; he was obviously holding back laughter. Italy was too tired to argue with him, and just leaned his head against the other's chest, muttering quietly in Italian until he finally nodded off, the alcohol coursing through his vein.

~*~*~*~GerItaJap~*~*~*~

Italy hiccupped for a new reason, tears streaming down his face as he tried to remember how to breathe properly. Japan was crouched next to him on the bed the three of them somehow managed to share now—all Japan had said was thank God for California King size mattresses. Pale hands stroked through auburn hair, trying to calm the sobbing nation as he clung to him.

"It's all right, Italy. There's no reason to cry."

"I…. I went to the bar, since drinking is what he does for fun, a-and all I did was cause trouble for him!" Italy whimpered. "He probably hates me now, Japan…!"

Japan sighed softly, and gently petted that soft auburn hair, just trying to calm his more easily-excited lover. "It's all right, Ita-chan," he murmured, resorting to the nickname that usually made Italy smile. It failed for the first time, and Italy didn't stop crying. Japan leaned his head on top of the other's, cooing gently, his fingers raking through his hair, down his neck, repeating the soothing motion over and over. "He loves you, Italy. We love you." He kissed the other man's forehead. It was one of the rare times that Japan spoke his feelings openly—something that Italy usually found unforgettable and perfect, but only brought a slight bitter sweetness with it this time.

"I… I know, Japan," he said quietly. "And thank you. Thank you so much." The man leaned in to give his lover a small peck of the lips. "…I didn't mean to worry you," he murmured, feeling a little guilty. "Don't worry about me. I can figure something out." Italy gently ran the backs of his fingers across the other's cheeks, just loving the soft texture of Japan's wonderfully pale skin. "I don't want you to feel like you have to worry about this." He leaned forward for another kiss, and gently pulled Japan closer.

Italy truly loved how much Japan was sacrificing for his benefit. How much the other was wishing to sacrifice and work to try and make him happy. He wanted to make him just as happy, if not more. He gently pulled the other closer, humming against his lips. "I'll make sure to get it tomorrow, Japan. Tonight… Tonight, I want to make it up to you. To thank you for all you've done for me."

Japan's answering blush was the only reply that Italy needed.

~*~*~*~GerItaJap~*~*~*~

Italy spent the rest of the next day attempting to figure out just what it was that Germany did all day. It was his day off, so this would be the best day to find all of his hobbies. Germany had to do something to keep himself busy, right?

Germany got up quite a bit earlier than Italy did, so he was sure he lost an hour or two of Germany in the gym. But he then spent an hour with Italy and Japan eating breakfast—their usual Sunday routine. Breakfast eaten, Germany began to scrub at the mound of dishes for nearly a full hour until they were literally sparkling. Then Germany spent an hour in the shower cleaning himself (well, he supposed that it wouldn't have normally been an hour, but Italy felt the need to join him, and one thing led to another and…. Well, that was that). Three hours of paperwork, a light lunch, and then he finally, finally settled down to relax.

That caught Italy off guard. He'd never really seen Germany relax during the day. But when he looked at the time, he realized that it was during his siesta time—the time he usually spent napping in the back yard garden or painting in the bedroom-turned-studio upstairs. So Germany took a siesta, of his own type, as well.

He smiled a bit, fidgeting, finally finding something that maybe they could share. Germany looked up from his book, which he'd had propped open on his lap. The blue-eyed man stared at his energetic lover for a few moments before motioning to him, silently asking him to join him.

Germany grunted as Italy practically tackled him, smiling widely, and made himself at home. Italy cushioned his head in the other's lap, his knees pulled up to his chest. Well, if he'd known Germany was this comfortable of a pillow, he definitely would have used him for his siestas before. He smiled, nuzzled deeper into the other's lap, and relaxed against him.

Germany fell back into his earlier calmness, his hands gently petting Italy's hair in a way both he and Japan knew the Italian liked. Italy sighed happily, already drifting off as Germany read. "…Read to me?" he murmured, trying to stay awake, to enjoy how perfect this felt.

Unfortunately, it only took a few minutes of Germany's low, steady reading to send Italy off to dream land. But the Italian was rather sure that he had just found a way of spending his siestas from now on.

~*~*~*~GerItaJap~*~*~*~

[1] – Mochi – Mochi are, quite simply, little squishy balls that have the consistency of soft putty. They can be flavored or not, and are usually filled with sweet anko, a bean paste popular in Japanese desserts. Mochi are a common traditional Japanese sweet snack, and have recently become available at lots of anime conventions, if anyone is interested in trying them (my personal favorite is the strawberry flavored, but the green tea is also good).

[2] – Ichigo Daifuku – Another Japanese dessert; an ichigo daifuku is a mochi wrapped around an anko-covered strawberry. They're a popular dessert, and taste awesome.

[3] – "Bis wir gehen, liebling." – "Up we go, darling" in German.