Lease on Life
by: LycanNoir
A/N: This is my first Hetalia fanfic, and it's actually the first fanfic I have written for at least a year. I'm probably rather rusty, so please be kind in your assessment of my work, but constructive criticism is always, always welcome.
This fanfic is based heavily upon the musical Rent by Jonathan Larson. Further, it draws a tiny bit of inspiration from the source-work of that, the even older classic opera La Boheme, even though I am not cultured enough to have seen the latter. While you shouldn't expect the characters to burst into song, several of the (planned) chapters take some conversations, dialogs, themes, and concepts from the lyrics. When a chapter follows a particular song very closely I will try to let my readers know in the author's note, particularly for the benefit of other Rent fans. It is not necessary to have seen Rent to understand my fic.
Opening Acknowledgments: My eternal gratitude to everyone at au_hetalia, particularly to Kat, Dollfie, Iggy, and Tara for their free advice and having been there at all hours of the night and day. Further, thanks to my best friend Darla for answering a handful of Japanese questions so I would better know how to handle Japan as a character.
Disclaimer: Axis Powers Hetalia belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz. Rent belongs to Jonathan Larson. I don't own anything of value and this is written entirely for entertainment purposes.
Prologue
New York City, New York
24 December 2314
The tension in the air was almost as thick as the city smog as the sun began to set over New York. The irony of the date was barely noticed as delegates and hundreds more swarmed on the United Nations' international territory in Manhattan. Tomorrow negotiations would begin, and the news media was in a constant, humming frenzy. Everyone on Earth was asking the same silent question.
"Is this our last chance?"
***
Italy stuck the tip of his tongue out just past his lips as he concentrated on holding the loops in place on his knitting needle. The quickly-shrinking mass of white yarn had long-since unraveled and now lay about his legs and tangled around his ankles as he moved his feet idly back and forth against the couch. Suddenly, a blonde calico cat leapt into his lap and began batting at the yarn, rolling and tangling in it before Italy could stop him.
"Pasta! Silly cat..." Italy scolded gently, laughing at the cat as he leaned forward and gently, patiently untangled the cat and moved him to the top of the coffee table. The cat mewed willfully but then began to pace the length of the table, its back paw briefly resting on the television remote, long enough to edge up the volume. The newscaster's voice grew louder, but Italy was too focused on knitting to notice what she was saying.
"...more delegates arriving by the hour. Tomorrow morning, Christmas Day, could possibly bring with it real peace on Earth.
After the most recent reactor leak in Japan, nuclear contamination is at an all-time high. The death toll approaches 2,000, with more isolated cases of radiation poisoning being reported daily, especially among the elderly. Following the leak, Russian officials still defend the expansion of their own peaceful nuclear program, with pressure for the phasing out of nuclear energy being applied from all other G8 members. The wars in the Middle East over the ever-rarer oil deposits have been called to truce for this important summit. Without this meeting, no one knows what will happen. Goodwill towards men seems to be more important now than ever, and as the dawn approaches our nation and the world hold their breath..."
"Out already?" Italy asked aloud as the end of the white yarn touched his needle. The urgent news broadcast hadn't even garnered his attention. He held out his project—the beginnings of a toboggan with a red top and now white middle section. He glanced over at his basket to see if he had anymore white yarn, but all he saw were spools of red and green. He looked around his apartment for a moment, trying to decide if it was worth going out to buy more white yarn at this time of day. He looked out the window and saw snow spitting down from the murky winter sky. He stood up quickly and dusted off his paint-stained khaki cargo pants and began searching for his left shoe.
He got down closer to the floor and searched under the couch, startling Pasta and narrowly missing a warning swipe of his claws.
"Sorry," he said softly as he fumbled and reached the wayward sneaker and sat in the floor, much like a little boy putting on his shoes.
He poked around the kitchen for a moment, finding his wallet and keys before lithely running out the door. As soon as he felt the cold air in the apartment building's long hallway, he unlocked the door and shrugged on a red jacket that wasn't quite thick enough for a New York winter to try and combat the cold.
Locking his apartment door once again, he moved quickly down the hall in pursuit of more white yarn, not having bothered to turn off the television.