I don't own Hetalia

"'ow dare 'e do such a thing!"

England sat back with a sigh as he watched his... colleague stride back and forth the small parlour. The taller man's indignation was palpable, and it was beginning to give him a headache.

"Ignorant 'un! Letting 'is ruler do something so unacceptable. C'est incroyable!"

He let out a small sigh, careful to ensure it was unheard to avoid further riling the Frenchman, before taking a small sip of his hot tea. His cushion was comfortable, the room was cool, and he had tea. He was prepared. Besides, the man had begun to speak French, and he could only tolerate so much of that accursed language.

"France, perhaps we should-"

He was cut off rather rudely when the man turned to him, and nearly shouted at him. But, while the statement began forcefully, England almost rolled his eyes when it ended in a whine.

"'zat 'un 'ad ze cheek to try and weasel away my land! Morocco 'as always been mine! She is mine, and 'e is trying to free her!"

With that, France turned and began to throw his hands in the air while screaming incomprehensible French. Now, England was fluent - against his wishes - in the language, however even with his skill of raising America and the boy's atrocious wording, he was unable to translate.

"Well, that's not strictly true... She's never really been yours-"

This time, when the Frenchman spun with a crazed look in his eye, England wisely shut his mouth.

"Never mind. Carry on."

"It is not fair! I do not mess with 'is colonies!" England didn't point out Germany didn't really have any. He and France had them all.

"And letting 'is Rhine monkey of a leader pledge support to a cause 'zat 'as nothing to do with 'im! 'zat intolerable man should 'ave stayed on 'is little paddle boat and sailed 'ome, and not interfered in a very delicate affair!"

France began once again to rant in French, and even another sip of tea did nothing. Really, he must be beginning to calm by now as it was becoming tiresome. England was on his last nerve and he felt his eyebrow begin to twitch.

"France."

He was ignored.

"France, shut up!" He finally roared, slamming down his teacup. The china rattled loudly and broke through France's tirade. He turned back to his seated partner who had lost his temper, and he took a deep breath before sitting on the opposite seat. England unclenched his fist, and looked politely at the wall beside France's head.

"Now, tomorrow we are going to Spain's house, as he's holding the conference in Algeciras. We go there, you can shout at Germany as much as you want, we defend our empires, and make make bloody well sure everyone thinks we are the best of friends, understood?"

At this, he finally locked eyes with France, and was pleased for once in his life to see the Frenchman agreeing with him.

"Oui," France for the first time since they arrived, looked rather pensive. "Things... must seem rather, uh, solide, non? Allemagne is... testing us."

"Yes... Our agreement is being pushed. We need to present a united front if we are to curb things." England trailed off and looked to the small open window, knowing that France's earlier anger had been pushed to the back burner for now.

"France... will Russia back you?" The Englishman looked back to his companion, as this was important. They needed associates in this matter.

"Hmmm... Oui. I think- non. I know. We 'ave been allied for, uh, roughly douze ans. 'e should support me, as 'e 'as no intention of jeopardising 'is intentional standing. And I would like to think we 'ave gained something of une amitié in those years."

"Good. Because this is building up to something Francis." For once, he used France's real name, and it only emphasised his seriousness.

"Oui, Angleterre... Arthur. Je suis d'accord. I do not want to say it, mais..."

"War."

"Ve~ fratello! Britain and Big Brother France want to meet us before the meeting!" Veneziano's voice chirped through the relatively large home, his ever-present cheer tangible.

"What? Why the hell would the eyebrow-freak and the grabby bastard want to meet us?" Romano's grumpy voice came floating back from the studio, abundant with swears. Veneziano barely batted an eyelid; really, his brother's language had become commonplace to him now, and it was just how Romano was.

He looked closer at the sheet of paper. The telegram had just been delivered not five minutes ago, and to his chagrin, the only reason it took so long to tell his brother the contents was because he couldn't get the envelope open. The text was short and brief, and Veneziano suspected Britain had sent it. Usually Big Brother France's telegrams were half filled with comments on how cute he was and how it had been so, so long since they had last seen one another. This one simply asked both Romano and Veneziano to meet with them one day before to discuss some things. It also listed a hotel room and an address.

Although it was worded as a request, Veneziano highly doubted he and his brother had a choice.

"I don't know! But let's go anyway!" He shouted back.

"No! I am not going to meet with those two weirdos just because they ask!" Came the stubborn reply. Veneziano sighed. Romano could be so annoying.

"But we have to go, fratello. I want to see what they want!" He went silent for a moment. "Besides, Big Brother Spain is going too!"

His brother's response came back far too quickly, and Veneziano smiled. Romano sounded flustered. "So! It doesn't matter if the tomato-bastard is going or not, stupido! Why would I want to see him anyway?"

"So we are going then!" The younger twin sang, tossing the now refolded letter to the polished wooden table before skipping up the stairs to pack.

"I didn't say that! Idiota fratellino!"

Veneziano giggled as he opened his bedroom door.

He grunted as he pushed against the door to his apartment. Stupid lock. Why did it have to rust? This was his country, and his house. Surely there was a law of, well, magic stuff that stopped the door of a nation's house from rusting shut? He took a step back, and thrust all his weight against it once more. His eyes lit up when it gave a long moan and gave way slightly. He took another step back, and repeated his action, bearing down quite a bit. So much so that he didn't hear the light footsteps coming up the stairs behind him.

"Would you like some help, mon ami?" The lilting French accent he did hear, and a smile spread across Spain's face.

"Francia! Si, por favor! It would be appreciated."

Wordlessly, the blond man stood to the side of his friend, and together without a signal, they rammed the door with all their strength. It gave another dying wail, before a crack was heard and the door flew open. They fell forward slightly but caught themselves before they could become a heap on the floor. Spain's smile remained on his face.

"Dios! I thought it would never open! Gracias, Francia!"

France waved him off as he entered the house. Spain followed and shut the door behind him. He had a bag slung over his shoulder before he dumped it on the floor beside his bedroom door. They continued down the hall towards the kitchen.

"'ow did you let it get to zat state anyway, Espagne?"

Spain laughed and shrugged. "It has been a while since I have lived anywhere but Madrid, mi amigo. For this place, about nueve years! Clearly enough time for the rust to set in. But to be honest, I am fearing the dust more."

They both laughed. France pulled out one of the barstools to sit on, before almost flinging it back when a large spider sitting on a web woven between the legs became visible.

"Dieu!"

"Ah, well, the dust and the wildlife." Spain laughed again, this time slightly nervously, eyeing his own chosen barstool. A glance at each other revealed a mutual agreement, and they both moved towards the balcony. Luckily, this door was not jammed at all, and with a simple turn of the lock, they were outside. France went to lean on the railing, and Spain dusted down his clothes which were dusty from pushing on the front door.

"Not that I am not pleased to see you, Francia, but I was not expecting to see you until the meeting."

France looked at Spain out of the corner of his eyes. "Can I not come to see an old friend without it being business, Espagne?"

Spain smirked. "Si, of course you can, but that is not why you are here."

France sighed. "Oui, it is vrai. I am here on business. But I will get straight to ze point. I need to know... if we can count on your support."

Spain frowned. "Francia... you know I am staying out of this. Know that I will back you, mi amigo, but only to a certain point. I will not drag my country into a war."

France waved him off slightly. "Oui, oui... We just need to know zat you will not support Allemagne."

Spain turned fully to his friend, and the blond began to grow uncomfortable under the intense stare he was being given. While their owner had, those green eyes hadn't lost any of their power and France could still feel the wariness that even after all this time, they still nurtured within him.

But he needed to know. After all, while Spain could no longer be classed as a world power, he could still be a formidable enemy when provoked. France was one of the few people still alive to see this, and he knew he would do anything to avoid having that man's chosen weapon pointing at him. And it would be nice to have the companionship of a close friend.

Spain's eyes creased in indecision, knowing that his choice here would be an important one. He couldn't rush into this.

And he didn't.

"Muy bien. You have my personal support, and my word. Antonio will support you, but España remains neutral."

"I am not sure it was such a good idea, boss." Germany subconsciously twisted his fingers together, the only visible sign of his unease.

The room was large and open, however the heat was stifling despite the month being January. Germany's regal blue army coat did little to bring his rapidly rising temperature down, and the white trousers only helped. The rifle he always carried around was leaning against the left side of the room next to the standing lamp which was off. This was one of the many receiving rooms in the Reichstag, and Germany remembered being in here many times before, although the subject matter had never been so sensitive - or so he recalled. Perhaps he was wrong. But that didn't matter now, because his heart was heavy with the discontent of his people and their fear of the closing circle around them. His loyalty to his leader was the only thing keeping him sitting.

The man in question sat across from him in a slightly grander chair with carved wooden designs of battles and exotic fruits and various animals on the armrests and the back. He had on much the same uniform as Germany, however many more medals decorated his lapel, as well as the medal on the other side which depicted his position of both royalty and authority. Despite the obviously complexity of his trappings, the expressions on his face and his body language was the real attraction. Germany knew how unpredictable this man was, having many hundreds of encounters with him before - both pleasant and dreadful. He knew the man's ambition and high intelligence, as well as his barely concealed temper. He knew one must have supreme self control to successfully pierce that determined outer shell, and it was that which he was now attempting.

And by the look on the man's face, failing.

"Nein. It was the exact thing to do. This will expose that agreement Frankreich and Britannien have for the fragile thing it is, and will drive them apart." He paused for a moment, and then begun once more. "At the conference, you must emphasise how much we think this to be a good thing we are doing. Try and gain Frankreich as an ally, if possible."

Germany refrained from snorting in half-disbelief. it was unlikely that the Frenchman would ever join them, surely his boss knew that? Yes... he must know that. He wasn't a fool, by any means, and Germany knew that his boss wouldn't simply jump into a situation he could not handle. He had a short fuse, but he was clever and dare Germany say it... cunning. He must have a plan. Perhaps, if they played this right, they could succeed?

"Also," the ruler locked eyes with his country's representation, "try to gain the sympathies of the other nations. We can rely on our allies to back us, of course, but one cannot have too many friends."

Germany halted his reply for a moment, thinking over his growing unease. Then with a quick breath, he dispelled it. He shouldn't question his boss. After all, the man was doing it for the glory and prosperity of the empire, and that was all Germany wanted. If Wilhelm believed they could triumph, then they would, undoubtedly.

"Ja, Kaiser."

A little background on WW1 Hetalia style!

If anyone is interested, I have a massive set of notes tailored for this oneshot. See the next chapter!

If anyone knows the meaning of the title, loads of points! If you don't but want to know it, again, see the next chapter!

Please review! I really appreciate them, especially for my historical!Hetalia fics!