A/N: Alright, we're back to a new start, the last start, of the CTD series. Thank you for those who've been reading it since it came out, but it's been awhile (since I'm working on TMH and AAN), not sure how many of you still remember this story, ahahaha—/shot. ^^;;
For those of you who've never read CTD/PTP, let's just say that the nations had children and they went on great adventures in the last two years discovering and understanding their parentage. Mother countries cross dress when they are in their girl mode (imagine Nyotalia, but that the countries are still guys and can change into it whenever they want to, like Pokémon or something), although they never actually genderbend. So past mpreg (I'm not going to get too much into it, and I well understand it's not possible, lol), crossdressing, yaoi, and all that. Warnings aside, established pairings are RusAmer, FrUK, GerIta, Spamano, PruCan, Giripan, DenNor, and SuFin.
Aloisa Beilschmidt (18)—GerIta
Felicita Vargas Carriedo (17)—Spamano
Evangeline Bonnefoy (17)—FrUK
Alec Bonnefoy (18)—FrUK
Mikhail Braginski (18)—RusAmer
Adrian Braginski (18)—RusAmer
Amelia Braginski (9 and 1/2 mo.)—RusAmer
Yukiko Karpusi (15-16, looks 8)—Giripan
Melanie Beaumont—PTP character, moved to a private school
Angelina Allred—CTD character, switched schools, harassed the kids two years ago with her dad, ex-head of California school board, Thomas Allred.
By the way, sidestory Little Puzzles is up, and another one is in the making for iHeartNargles, who won the icon contest. I will try my best to make every chapter relatively long to shorten the chapter count of the overall story, but instead of updates every two weeks it may take a little bit (a lot /double shot) longer. And after this chapter, although the storyline (for me) has been finally organized into something relatively clearer than before, I am literally going to be flying solo with this story. Who knows what's going to come? XD Also, Weirdgirl012 has been so kind as to draw another adorable fanart, this time with CTD-cosplay-Vocaloid. Please go check it out on the CTD/PTP website (link in my profile)!
I sincerely apologize if I cannot reply to your reviews, I do read all of them, however, and I'm grateful that you're reading this story! ;A; Anyways, please enjoy!
EDIT: Okay, I'm getting writer's constipation. This chapter took forever to finish.
Sp/grammatical errors, DM linked words, and plot holes will be fixed after publication, like always.
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.
Friday, March 30, present, Felicita's room, 5:02 P.M…
"Evan…in your honest opinion, do you think I'm average?"
Evangeline Bonnefoy had her chin on Felicita Carriedo's desk, staring at the wall. Last summer, she had decided to cut her hair short and straighten it and dye it auburn, which resulted in her father literally fainting when she arrived back home. It was good while it lasted, she thought. When Evangeline spewed out her school troubles to Yukiko via email, Yukiko told her that "a change is a chance to start life anew" (which, considering that Evangeline had trouble comprehending Yukiko's old-people morals, didn't make much sense). Eventually she interpreted the advice as a visit to the salon, given that she believed two years of impossible trips to the past plus finding out that her parents weren't even human were pretty good reasons to "start life anew", or whatever Yukiko had originally meant. But it had been nearly eight months since that time, and her blond curls were in the process of replacing the darkened parts which, to her, was quite a nuisance.
"What do you mean, 'average?" she asked. Most of her accent had been lost, although once in a while certain British slang would creep up on her during heated conversations.
The two had been loitering around in Felicita's room after agreeing that their history group project could wait another hour.
"Average, like directionless, no talent. Like, you see me and you go in your head, 'That person is going to end up in a no-name college with a useless major and spend the rest of her life in a cubicle in some dead-end job, fetching coffee for her boss on the side'," Felicita answered from her bed, raising her head briefly to wait for Evangeline's reply.
Evangeline wondered why Felicita had so many doodles of tomatoes taped on her wall.
"No," she answered in the same tone.
Felicita's head plopped back on the pillow, puffing out a short sigh.
"I should have a talent," she argued tiredly.
"Sure you do," Evangeline said. "You can grow tomatoes in a day—"
"A useful talent."
She tapped her fingers on the table.
"Who says gardening isn't useful?"
Felicita frowned.
"For farmers, yeah—"
Evangeline threw her a meaningful look.
"Why are you so worried?" she asked.
Felicita sat upright and crossed her arms, pulling a face.
"Aloisa and Alec got into that design college they wanted, Mikhail and Adrian are going to…well, I don't remember, but it must be some prestigious place I've never even heard of—"
"They're going to Boston," Evangeline said quietly, but added, "But they're probably going to end up wasting the night away playing World of Warcraft. Come on, Feli, it's not like you're hopeless—"
"My GPA is average, my SAT scores are average, and I'm ending my third year of high school with most of my friend scattering across America." She loosened her ponytail and tucked a stray strand of hair behind one ear. "I want to be different."
She hadn't meant to sound whiny, but the sentence somehow came out that way.
"You could become a city and live forever until the sun burns out," Evangeline said. "That's different."
"Not exactly what I had in mind," the brunette replied. "I'll rephrase it: I want to make a difference in the world."
"Adrian's hero complex must be rubbing off," she said blandly. "How do you plan on doing that?"
Felicita's shoulders sagged. "I don't know."
Evangeline pulled herself up and rested her chin on her hand. "Why do you want to be different?"
Because next to you and Aloisa and everyone else I feel lost. I'm happy for them, of course, but sometimes…
"I just don't want to take the easy way out," she said finally.
After a short silence, Evangeline spoke up, "Well I think you're fine the way you are." She added, "Speaking of Adrian, at least we know he'll be flying back every summer if he doesn't want my brother to chop off his head."
Felicita moved to the windowsill, gazing out at a particularly noisy delivery truck.
"I can't believe Jack Howell asked Aloisa to dinner," she said distractedly.
Evangeline huffed, "I can't believe she doesn't know it's a date."
"That too."
"Mikhail must be pissed."
"No kidding." Her eyes followed a shadowy figure in suspicion until she realized that the man was the UPS delivery guy. "He can always ask her out for senior prom. If he doesn't beat Jack Howell up by then, I mean."
Evangeline gave her a wry smile. "You know who you could be if you wanted to be different?" she ventured.
Felicita turned her head, confused. "Who?"
"Martha Stewart. She gardens, right?" Evangeline paused, pondering. "Without the going to jail part, of course."
She had to smile at that.
"Right," she said. "Let's go down for dinner. My dad's making some paella pasta thing today."
"You know what? I found my cell phone in my dad's storage box in the attic. I thought I'd lost it in 1960." Evangeline slid off the chair and stretched. "I feel bad that I'm coming over so often and leeching off of you and your parents."
"I don't mind," Felicita laughed, gliding down the stairs. "My dad likes having people over."
"Great, because my mum insisted on cooking today, and Dad isn't coming back from France until tomorrow."
Saturday, March 31, present, nearby café, 2:12 P.M…
Felicita watched a bead of water run down her glass before sipping at her juice. She didn't think they'd met up as a group since senior year for the four other teens began; now that the panic about universities, exams, and Melanie Beaumont (who had, by some miraculous power high above, moved to her other house across the U.S.) had passed, they'd ended up back to the café where Alec had brought them to two years ago.
The days had gone on as normally as it had before the kids had taken that flight across the country, or at least Felicita liked to think so. Their families still looked as if they'd never aged a day since their twenties, but Aloisa wasn't that girl who burst out in random squeals over manga anymore, and Alec's accent had diminished over time. Mikhail's expression wasn't as daunting as it had been back in sophomore year, and Adrian seemed happy enough to have Alec by his side. There was always something familiar and comforting about reminiscing, but this time Felicita wondered if she was being selfish by wishing everything to be the way it was.
School matters aside, there had appeared to be a dubious issue regarding theft (of what kind, Felicita wasn't sure), although she could've easily misheard, for she'd summed up that conclusion from her parent's quiet conversations during the night. Her father had been called back to Spain for a business meeting that had lasted two weeks, and right after that it had been Aloisa's dad who'd received a call and had to leave immediately for Berlin (and had not returned home yet). Upon Feliciano's questioning, however, Ludwig seemed as uncertain of the situation as him, for he only mentioned vaguely that his boss wanted to see him in person to inform him on a chain of viral attacks on the five different countries' government database that were discovered in time but could not be traced back, and that was all Aloisa could manage to hear from the other room.
The only two nations that weren't called away were America and Russia. In the beginning of summer vacation last year, Alfred had had another child (Adrian and Mikhail had an unspoken understanding that they'd rather not wonder about the mechanisms of it all, lest risk forming any images in their heads that could not be unseen), a little girl whom he insisted be named Amelia in place of an unpronounceable Russian name Ivan probably had had in mind ("Like Amelia Earhart!" he'd said excitedly to Arthur. "She's going to be a heroine and an adventurer, like me!"). Felicita had met Amelia a couple of times—the first being the hospital, when she first opened her eyes, revealing a deep, amethyst color. Amelia, in her opinion, looked every bit like Ivan, with her violet eyes and pale skin and thin, ashy-blond curls, right down to a sweet little smile she suspected might turn out to be creepy once she hit kindergarten. Katyusha seemed much taken with her new niece and cried when she saw the girl (then again, she cried when a button popped off her blouse); Natalia, according to Adrian, was surprisingly fond of Amelia and refused to put her down (unfortunately, that also meant that she wasn't going to fly back to Belarus until the end of the school year).
It was also as if someone had extracted America's stubbornness and temper and compressed it all into Amelia; she liked to climb on tables and on beds and on cribs and over cribs; she hated puffed rice but Cheerios were okay; she liked to play with Alfred but mostly with Ivan; and she would bawl if her bunny plushie that Arthur made her got thrown into the wash. But as preoccupied as Alfred and Ivan were they, too, had heard about the anonymous hacker. Although seeing as there was no real information having been accessed, the concerns died down (even though the World Summit was pushed back in case of "further unforeseen mishaps"). And that was always worrisome.
"We haven't been here since the lady kicked Alec out," Felicita commented.
Alec crossed his arms, leaning back on Adrian on the couch.
"She did not kick me out," he said, clicking his tongue in irritation.
Adrian shut down his laptop and stowed it away in his bag, shrugging.
"I think you're thinking of the other café," he told Felicita.
The blond scowled, straightening himself away from Adrian until the other pulled him close again. Alec looked away in annoyance.
"Whatever you want to call it," he said. "How was I supposed to know that girl would blow a fuse when she saw me?"
Aloisa Beilschmidt looked at the two in amusement. "You mean the one from sophomore year who thought you were dating her?" she inquired.
"That's the one. You know, I never did find out her name."
Evangeline rolled her eyes, fiddling with something in her lap. "Aren't you a charmer," she quipped.
"To certain people, yes," he agreed, unwinding himself from Adrian's restraining arm. "What have you got there, Evan—agh!"
His sister eyed him suspiciously before raising the object and nearly blinding the two boys with a flash of brilliant white light. The Polaroid made a fizzing noise in her hands and deposited a black-and-white photograph onto the table; Evangeline flapped it around and examined her handiwork, ignoring Alec's indignant protests.
"What was that for?"
Evangeline shot him a glare. "Lower your voice. Do you want to get kicked out of another café?"
Alec hissed, "How many times do I have to stress that it was that girl who screamed first—"
"Here," she said, pressing the developed picture in his face. "A reminder of 1960 for you."
"Where did you get the camera?" Mikhail piped up.
Evangeline directed the lens at him and snapped another picture, shaking the Polaroid when the photo refused to print out.
"The basement—"
At that exact moment, Alec flung the photo back in shock, plopping it into Evangeline's teacup.
"You got it from the basement?" he said in horror. "Do you want to send us on a trip to the Stone Ages?"
His sister pursed her lips and fished the picture out while Mikhail recovered from his momentary stupor.
"Mum gave it to me, for your information," she said. "It's not dangerous, goodness…"
"Well, that was exactly what Adrian's mother said about that alien thing I found under Adrian's bed after it jumped on my face—"
"You two were probably doing something stupid or risqué," she countered flippantly. "And there are no aliens, for the last time—"
"Just like there are no unicorns," Alec muttered darkly. "And we weren't doing anything that time…" His mind whirled back to that disastrous day—
A few weeks ago...
"My parents are out this afternoon," Adrian breathed into his ear. "Wanna come over?"
So he did. And he'd let Adrian push him into his room and onto the floor and when he turned his head to the side between trailing kisses Alec realized something was staring back at him from under the bed.
"Wha—" Alec got up, squinting into the dark. "What is that…?"
Adrian mouthed along his neck, pausing briefly when he noticed that Alec didn't respond.
"What are you looking at?" he asked.
A set of red orbs blinked at him, and Alec felt his breath catch in his throat.
"What's under your bed—oh my God!"
"Fucking limey!"
Regrettably, Alec was remembering it more clearly now. He also recalled that when the thing leaped out he'd accidently backhanded Adrian as he rolled away and hit his head on the nightstand. Not dangerous, his ass…
"We weren't…doing anything…" Alec repeated.
Mikhail cocked his head, as if hit by a thought.
"So that was what I heard that day," he said conversationally. "I thought it was from my video game."
Adrian turned to him, stunned.
"You were home? How much did you hear?"
Mikhail sent him a bored look.
"Two idiots screaming," he answered.
While Adrian gave a mental sigh of relief, Evangeline placed the camera in Felicita's hands and pulled on Aloisa's arm. "Alright," she said. "Before you four go off on your college adventures I want to take a group picture."
"As long as that thing doesn't make James Chase appear…"
"Give it a rest, will you?"
Alec looked as if he wanted to spit a quick comeback, but his mouth clamped shut when Adrian pressed his lips on his temple and pulled the blond on his lap, making room for the two girls. Washington D.C. seemed like a lifetime away, from the day Alec slapped James Stanton in a restaurant full of people, from when Mikhail had gotten angry at Aloisa, from when Adrian broke his arm and realized he'd fallen in love, to the meeting room and Angeline Allred. It was as if they'd been picked up in a whirlwind of events and changed overnight. Or rather, Felicita just never noticed.
What about me?
Evangeline unintentionally shoved Aloisa onto a rather appreciative-looking Mikhail as she was squeezing onto the couch, trying to get in the range of the shot. Aloisa was bright, practically radiant, as she gestured for Felicita to come over. Somewhere in the middle, Mrs. Harlen had grown up.
"Come on, Feli!" she urged. "Sit next to Adrian!"
What do I want to be?
Felicita's finger hovered over the button and pressed it down, her mouth curving into a small smile as the Polaroid flashed.
Sunday, April 1, present, Felicita's backyard, 5:11 P.M…
Felicita saw her dad picking tomatoes in the backyard again. She tacked her Polaroid photo on the wall and ventured downstairs. She tapped his shoulder warily.
"Hi, Dad."
Antonio turned his head, his face breaking out in a smile as showed Felicita the contents of his basket.
"Look, bebé, Papa's got a lot today!" he said, beaming. "I'm going to make something good for dinner today!"
Felicita took the basket from him and waited as he placed more tomatoes inside. She shuffled on one foot, nervous.
"What's special about me, Dad?"
He didn't even look up. "Everything."
"No, I mean…" She racked her brain for the right word. "What jobs do you I'd be best at?"
"Anything you want," he replied lightly. "A marine biologist. A tomato farmer. A computer engineer. A scientist. A surgeon—"
At this rate, her dad was going to spew every known occupation to man. She exhaled silently.
"What's it like being Spain?" she tried again.
Surprisingly, Antonio froze midway cutting off a tomato stem. He straightened and took his hat off, brushing his hair back with one ungloved hand.
"What do you mean?" he asked, his expression unreadable.
Truthfully, she was a bit uncertain of what she meant herself. "I don't know, what's it like being a country, I guess…"
He paused for a moment, thinking.
"It depends, really. Sometimes you feel powerful, like you're on top of the world. Creating great empires and conquering new lands…I suppose I thought it was satisfying until you realize nothing is eternal. Empires rise and fall; people will eventually die…" He shrugged, his tone brightening somewhat. "It's different now," he said, ruffling his daughter's hair and taking the basket from her. "I've got you and your Mama. That's all I need."
"But—"
Her pocket buzzed then, and Felicita hurriedly answered her phone. "Hello?"
"I hope you didn't give me a fake number. This is Felicita, right?"
She blinked. "Ian?"
On the other end, she could hear the boy chuckling.
"Good to hear your voice, sweetheart," he said cheerily. "How's high school going for you?"
"Don't call me that. What do you need?"
"I'm doing well in college, thank you for asking."
"Uh-huh."
"I called your home phone, and a very angry lady answered, 'You better hang up before I find out exactly who the hell you are, bastard!' Her words exact."
"That would be my Mom."
"I've always wondered where your lovely personality came from."
She could almost see that smirk plastered on his face. "What do you want, Ian? I have to help my dad with dinner soon."
"Of course, of course, straight to the point. I will be flying in a few days to California for an internship, and I was wondering if you'd be so kind…eh, I guess I should stay on your mum's good side. Let me rephrase: I was wondering if Your Majesty would grace this lowly—"
"I am going to hang up, Ian."
"Wait! I meant, would you like to have dinner with me when I come over?"
"…you know, you can be considered a legal pedophile right now."
"Just as friends," he assured. "Unless—"
"I'll think about it."
"Brilliant. You think you can hitch a ride from your friends and meet me at the airport?"
"No."
"That's what I thought. Oh, and Grandfather sends his regards to Alec."
"Are you serious?"
"…Nope. He just about had a heart attack when I told him I met the Alec Bonnefoy—"
"Isn't it one in the morning over there?"
"Yep."
"Good night, Ian."
"Hold on—"
Antonio looked at her strangely. "Who was that?"
Felicita shoved the phone back into her pocket.
"Wrong number."
Because if she actually agreed to go, Felicita had a sinking feeling that her mother would knife Ian in the guts.
Sunday, April 1, present, Amelia's room, 6:21 P.M…
Mikhail stared at his baby sister. Amelia stared back at him with equal concentration, her little hands balling into fists.
"Do you think Aloisa will say yes if I ask her to prom?" he asked flatly.
Amelia batted the railings of her crib with her hands.
"Story," she said.
"You want me to tell you a story?" Well, he had nothing else on his hands, so he might as well. "Okay. I can tell 'Adrian and Alec'. In fact, I will act it out."
Mikhail cleared his throat and placed his both hands on his cheek, gazing adoringly skywards at the ceiling. "Oh, Adrian!" he said, his voice fake and high pitched and in a horrible French accent. "What am I to do with myself? I love James-what's-his-last-name-Mikhail-cannot-remember-right-now, but I love you, too, even though I'm not going to say it out loud because you'd rather me swooning into your arms when you save me from heavily armed men!"
Amelia gurgled.
His voice switched to a deep rumbling, "Alec, because I am a hero I will fight my own dad who doesn't even know I'm his son and break my arm in the process like a moron. But you love me anyways, so it all works out." Then as Alec, "Of course I do! I will love even if you are a moron and can't ever beat your dashingly handsome brother in World of Warcraft!"
Amelia grinned toothily, waving her arms and trying to imitate her brother.
He continued, "Come, Alec! I will sweep you off your feet and we'll ride off into the sunset on my pony and live happily ever after—"
"What the hell are you doing?"
Mikhail froze and turned his head robotically at Adrian, who was gaping at him from the doorframe. "You are supposed to be out on your date."
"Yeah, I came back for my cell phone."
"…oh."
Amelia had rolled on her back, blithely chewing on her blanket.
Sunday, April 1, present, Greece, the ruins, 5:30 P.M…
Yukiko Karpusi sat up in the grasses and looked ahead, wondering why in the world the half-unearthed, ancient ruins of Greece were fifty feet away from a perfect, undisturbed acre of grass where she and her father were. A kitten climbed over her dad's stomach and swatted at her legs; Yukiko held it up and placed it on her knee, distracted. Her dad had fallen asleep ten minutes after he brought her to see the ruins. A new record.
There was something uneasy about today, she felt, as if an ill wind was waiting to blow over. The cat nudged her finger, its fur soft and smooth. It was probably nothing. After all, if there were something amiss England would be the first to realize.
Yukiko put the cat back on Heracles's tummy and hiked up the hill to the ice cream vendor.
Sunday, April 1, present, Aloisa's house, 6:08 P.M…
"I'm home, Mom—"
Feliciano's voice rang down from upstairs—a softer, more feminine voice, which meant that he had reverted back to dressing up like he did two years ago. Which still came as a shock sometimes to Aloisa, especially how Feliciano can so effortlessly look and act like a girl when he wanted to.
"Great! I just got a call from your dad. He said he's coming home tomorrow!" he gushed enthusiastically. "And I need to get some groceries. Want to come along?"
"Sure, why not." She hung her bag on the hook behind the closet door. "Hey, Onkel—" She stopped, looking at an unconscious Gilbert sprawled out on the couch in front of a running TV. "Is he drunk again?"
Feliciano hurried down the stairs, tucking a note into his pocket.
"He'll be fine, bambina, let him sleep. Come on, the place will close in an hour!"
He placed a hand on Aloisa's shoulder and steered her outside again. Gilbert snorted and turned over in his sleep, mumbling about beer and something or the other about Canada. The television flashed on mutely, the anchorwoman's lips moving as the captions below displayed her words—
…two days ago, we have received from an unknown sender papers documenting what seems to be the history of different countries. However, attached to the package are the names of several international government officials who are believed to be physical personifications of nations, according to the evidence mailed in from the anonymous source—