It is My Heart

Italy was sketching, quite comfortable slouched on Germany's sofa. It was cold and raining outside, so he and Germany were spending the day indoors, and at the moment, Italy was waiting for his companion to finish some work so they could do something together. Maybe watch a film, or try to play poker again. That had been funny last time-Italy just couldn't grasp how you did it properly

He looked up as the door to the living room opened. It was Germany, and he was wearing his casual 'round the house' clothes: a red shirt unbuttoned at the collar and dark cargo pants. He still had his reading glasses on. Italy sat up, flipping the sketchpad closed and greeting him with a bright smile
"Germany! Are you all finished now?" he asked cheerfully, "Because I thought we could watch a DVD together! I even brought some from my place so you could choose one you haven't seen and, oh, do you have any popcorn in the house, because it-"
"Italy," said Germany sharply, interrupting his ramble.
"Ve?"
"No, I am not finished yet. Ah, you see, there is something I need you to sign, please." There was a little nervousness-or was it trepidation?-in his tone, and Italy tilted his head to one side in curiosity.
"What is it?"

Germany moved into the room, and Italy saw that he was carrying with him a thick brown folder, full of papers. He sat beside Italy on the sofa, placing the folder on the coffee table as he pulled a pen out of his shirt pocket. Italy sat forwards, curiosity setting in, and stuck his pencil behind his right ear, setting the sketchpad to one side as he pulled the folder towards him. Flicking through, he saw that it was full of official looking documents written in German, most of which had a similar appearance to each other.

Germany stopped his hands, ignoring the 'Ve!' of complaint and leafing through the papers before pulling out one with even denser text than the rest of them. His eyes flickered over it for a moment, and he nodded to himself, handing it to Italy along with the pen.
"Sign here," he instructed, indicating a blank box near the bottom, "oh, but be sure to sign as 'Feliciano Vargas', not as Italia. It was hard enough getting them to let me do this much, Gott only knows what she would say if you signed as a country."

Italy was more than a little confused, but he complied. If it was anyone but Germany, he would have refused to sign until he understood exactly what it was he was agreeing to, but he trusted Germany more than anything, so he would sign first, ask later. He signed, and then asked: "Is there anywhere else you need my signature, Germany? There are quite a lot of documents in here…"

Germany just nodded, extracting another sheet. For some reason, he had yet to look Italy in the eye since he had sat down, and his cheeks were slightly pink.
"Th-this one," he stuttered, gaze fixed determinedly on the document in his hand, "means that I'll still handle all the paperwork, even though y-you're the…um…just-ah-here, sign it." Raising his eyebrows, Italy took the sheet that was proffered and wrote his human name on it with a flourish. He noticed that this sheet already held Germany's neat signature. Placing the pen and paper on the coffee table, he turned to the nation beside him and said
"Alright Germany, now explain. What did I just agree to?"

Germany's ears were definitely red now, and his eyes were fixed on the floor as if it were fascinating. He mumbled a response, but it was unintelligible and also sounded like he'd said it in Russian. Italy pouted.
"Germanyyyy," he whined, pulling himself to sit on Germany's lap so that he had to look at him, "tell meeee." Germany coughed awkwardly, but he really had nowhere to look other than straight into Italy's eyes-the brunet had one hand draped over his shoulder and the other lifting his chin up. He fumbled with his words for a few moments before blurting
"It's Berlin!"

Italy twisted to look over at the folder on the table.
"Ve? Berlin?" Germany closed his eyes as the flush travelled to his cheeks.
"Ja," he muttered, "It's the title deeds to all the parts of Berlin that are under my name-well, were under my name. I don't-didn't-technically own all of it, but you've got all the areas that were under 'public' or 'state' ownership. It gets too complicated with the privately owned places, but it is still most of it. I think that it counts." Brown eyes blinked, and Italy struggled to get his words out through the shock,
"T-title Deeds? You mean that is-I have-you just gave me Berlin?" A mute nod, and Italy's mind went blank. "B-but, why?" If possible, Germany's cheeks got even redder.
"Because it-Berlin is my heart, Italy, and I wanted to give it to you. I think that, in truth, it has already been yours for a long time; this is just…making it official."

Italy's eyes had become very wide, and he looked from Germany to the folder and back to Germany, his lower lip starting to tremble and tears pricking his eyes.
"V-ve, Germany, that's - th-that's-" he got no further before he burst into tears, slumping onto Germany's shoulder and wrapping his arms tightly around him.
"Ah-what?" Germany's tone was full of panic and confusion and concern, and he reached his arms up to hold Italy and to run a hand comfortingly through his hair. "What is it? What is wrong? Did I-nein-Italy, did I upset you?" pain tore through his chest to say it, but he forced out the words "I-I'm really sorry; I can take it ba-"
"N-no!" a watery-eyed Italy was looking up at him, sniffling and hiccupping back sobs, "No, Germany, I'm not sad; I'm" sniff "really, really happy because that wa-as the" sniff "sw-sweetest thing I've e-ever seen!" he smiled a wobbly smile, which lasted a few moments before he felt sobs rising up again, and he buried his face back in Germany's shoulder, clinging on as tightly as he was able.

As for Germany, he was frozen for a moment as pure relief, giddying happiness and just love washed through him, and his mouth formed a small, silent 'oh.' As he held his love closer to him, hiding his face in his hair to cover a small, immovable smile. His mind was spinning as 'thank you's and 'I love you's stumbled over each other, none quite managing to trip off his tongue. Really, whatever had he done to deserve someone like Italy?

#~#~#

AN: …I feel like I screwed it up in that last paragraph. Gah.

The 'she' Germany refers to is his boss, Angela Merkel (if you even noticed that).

This did have a bit more on the end, but I took it off. Sorry.

Reviews are nice :)