Trail of the Angels.
Gift-fic for Pochiownsakitchen on Tumblr. She was telling me how she never sees properly done unrequited fics for pairings so I... I regret the challenge.
Unrequited
Prologue
Sometimes, Romano has moods.
Usually his mood is relaxed, almost dismissive: if it's not coming in direct contact with him then he probably won't deal with it. It's why he's so bad about menial chores like sweeping and laundry, and part of why Veneziano has once or twice considered borrowing from Germany and writing up a schedule for household chores and when they need to be done. But then he remembers that he should probably go dust the china cabinet, and reminds himself why he doesn't want a schedule.
Romano's other common mood is grumpy, because seeing people who do better than him usually puts him on the defensive. It makes him retreat and want to put distance between the good and the bad. North Italy gets this treatment a lot, and to be honest sometimes he triggers it on purpose: especially over the last few (hundred) years.
But Romano can also be really cheerful when things are going well. He doesn't need much of a reason to throw a party or invite guests for dancing and drinks. He's happiest when he knows he's going to have a full table, so when meetings and conferences are in Rome he's usually busy for weeks making sure everything is set to go perfectly while Veneziano tries to remember what the business is actually about.
He's not terrible to live with. He's honest because he can't lie and he learned a long time ago not to bother trying to get better at it. South's a little blunt some times, but so is North. He tends to leave Rome for weeks at a time and head south to his cities and countrysides, and when he vanishes he's impossible to get hold of: but North does the same thing and is equally bad about reading e-mails or returning calls when he's in Venice.
They work well with each other even if nothing ever ends up getting done. They understand each other, and that alone makes getting along a lot easier.
Which is why when Romano gets into one of his moods, Veneziano always knows. And that's why he feels sort of bad for not being there this time when it happens.
He's been in Turin for most of this month trying to help the city's museums co-ordinate their collections with Milan and Rome for a rich exhibition in a few weeks, so it's hard for him to gauge when exactly Romano's mood changed. All he knows is that when he opens the front door after a lot of travelling, Veneziano is met with a freshly swept floor, dusted shelves of historical trinkets, and the smell of cigarette smoke.
Romano smokes whenever he's stressed about something, or when he's in a mood. But he only cleans when it's a mood so that solves the question and only leaves the problem.
"Hey." He finds his brother at the other end of the city dwelling and up on the second floor: he's on the balcony looking down the Roman hill where their house is placed on the slope. It's a Sunday but Romano is wearing a pressed white shirt and black slacks, his tie undone but hanging around his neck: all signs that he's been to church this morning, which is normal and therefore a good sign.
"Hey, how was Turin?" But the way he turns around with something missing in his green eyes and drawing the colour from his straight cheeks says something else, his long face all hard angles without the dismissal or apathy of his normal personality.
"It was wonderful: the weather's really great this time of year!" Forcing cheer on the situation won't help a whole lot, but Veneziano can still try. "Why don't we go out? Have you had lunch?"
"You're still carrying your suitcase." Is he? North Italy drops it on the hall floor and waves his hands to show it's nothing. "It's fine. I don't really feel like- going out." There's a catch in his voice, mild like the way his low voice just rumbles along without rising or falling, the spice of his words turning mellow as he looks back out over the city. Romano shifts a little bit so he's leaning on the corner of the little balcony, not turning his back on Veneziano but still paying more attention to the skyline. The cigarette he could smell but not see finally makes an appearance between his brother's fingers, and with a slow inhale he takes the smoke into his lungs and holds it there.
"How about I make us something to eat then?" He's exhausted from travelling all day, but he makes the offer anyways just to try and see how bad things are under the surface.
"Sure, if you like." Having Romano agree and not make a bid for one of his own meals is a bad sign, but not as troubling as: "I'm not sure what's still good in the fridge, but go for it."
Veneziano has been away from home for almost two weeks.
Whatever's wrong with his brother, they both know, has been going on for much longer than that.
Romano has always been close with Spain, but this is one of the few times when Veneziano knows he can't call the Spaniard into things.
He also doesn't want to, but that's beside the point: Spain can't help. In fact, he would probably just make Romano's mood worse.
Romano's mood should be a good thing: he's much quieter at work and at home, more diligent about getting his paperwork done, and handles more and more housework in his off hours. These should all be very obvious pluses in Veneziano's day, things he should steal away like candies and be happy with, but he's not.
Because he knows his brother, and as much of a dick as Romano can be sometimes, this isn't like him.
"Let's go for a walk!"
"I don't really feel like it…"
"I'll order us some pizza!"
"Go for it, but I'm not hungry."
He doesn't eat, and he won't cook; Veneziano leaves a small cluster of vine-ripened tomatoes in their kitchen and comes back from work a few days later to find one of them rotten and the others in their fridge. A portion of his brother's favourite pasta and sauce is left on the table to dry out over-night. Romano sleeps through their entire weekend and doesn't even set foot downstairs.
He just sleeps, showers, and smokes.
He shaves off two days' of scruff on Monday morning and goes to work, silent and barely even there while they file and stamp and fill out mountains of paperwork in their office, desks attached and the younger brother unable to break the older one's silence.
Pissing him off doesn't work either, because Veneziano's every word just transforms into water running down his brother's back. He knows Romano isn't trying to ignore him, but it's awful when another week passes and North Italy starts to feel the paranoia of isolation creeping up on him: he needs his brother back.
Another weekend and after a failed attempt to watch a movie together (Romano's eyes were on the screen, but he didn't make one wise-crack or get at all invested in the plot the way he usually does), Veneziano makes one more attempt to fix the problem himself.
"Let me sleep next to you tonight!"
"Uh, okay."
Romano doesn't grumble or complain about it, and when they both climb under the covers and Veneziano is quick to wrap his arms around his brother's back, head resting between Romano's shoulder blades, his other half doesn't shove him away with a curse or a swear. None of this complacency is like him, just like it takes Romano so much longer to fall asleep than it should… Enough so that Veneziano probably falls asleep first.
Maybe he will have to call Spain. That's what North Italy is left thinking when he wakes up slowly the next morning because he feels too hot.
And he's too hot because in his sleep Romano has given up a little bit and tried to find what he needs to stop the pain he won't let rise to the surface. Veneziano can feel one of his brothers' arms underneath him and wrapped around his waist, the other one over his shoulder with a hand holding the back of his head close to Romano's throat and face against his skin. The grip is tense and the hold unbearably hot because South Italy's body feels inflamed. Despite the fact that he's still breathing deeply, his body is shaking so hard inside that Veneziano returns the hug that isn't meant for him. He closes his eyes again after kicking some of his blankets off and stays exactly where he is.
When Romano wakes up an hour later there's such an offended look on his strained face that he almost seems betrayed. Veneziano doesn't have to say anything, in fact they both just quietly agree to remain silent about the whole thing, and maybe North Italy really will have to call Spain to try and talk to him.
So he swallows his pride and tries it. He calls Spain from a small cafe Romano didn't want to join him at for their lunch hour, using work as an excuse and eventually seguing into the problem. For about five minutes, Spain sounds deeply concerned and earnest about coming to Rome immediately to comfort someone whose relationship with Romano is none of Veneziano's honest business. Romano and Spain's relationship is a big grey area for him and he doesn't enjoy talking about it, but he likes it even less when something clicks over the phone.
"Wait, is it one of those moods?" He wasn't even aware Spain knew the difference, but the sudden drop in the other nation's voice makes him pause and try to muddle through what he hears next. "How did you let it get this bad?"
"I was out of town when it started, I came back and he was already completely out of it."
"Heh, well I'm still not the one he wants to see: he made that very clear the last time I tried helping. You know what's wrong so you'll have to fix it yourself." And then the call ends.
It's hard to make Spain's temper short enough to hang up like that on someone, especially Italy of all people. It means he was right about Spain not being able to help, but more importantly shows that Romano's already been like this with his former mentor before, and whatever happened between them hurt their relationship.
So the only thing left to do is the last thing he wants to do: cut open the wound and force Romano to suck the poison out himself.
He doesn't go back to work after lunch because Romano will be productive enough for both of them. Instead he goes home and packs one of his brothers' suitcases, and he books a small flight as well, one-way, because it will be up to Romano to decide when he wants to come home.
A fresh pack of cigarettes and a quiet evening are waiting for South Italy when he comes home, and he doesn't even bring up the fact that North skipped out on work. If he's cautious about the offering of tobacco, he doesn't show it as he takes the last stick out of the pack already in his pocket and lights up in their living room, sinking into the arm-chair next to the couch, across from where Veneziano is already sitting with a glass of wine.
And they just sit like that, wallowing in the silence that's filled their office and their home for weeks, because Veneziano can keep the naive hope alive that his brother will snap out of his melancholy, and Romano is still lost in his own little world and won't come back out on his own.
Finally…
"When was the last time you saw her?"
Romano's embers are bright when Veneziano asks the question, but the smouldering end of the cigarette goes black with his lips still on the filter when the words register for him. It takes three, four seconds before the smoke starts flowing back out between his lips and nostrils.
"A long time."
"Guess?"
He won't get mad talking about this, because it's the only time he'll mention it- mention her. But Romano does try to use silence, and he does his very best to just sit there without speaking and not answer.
"Romano." Veneziano won't let him get away with it.
"New millennium." Thirteen years then. It isn't the longest gap in history, it isn't even a full generation, but it's enough. "You know, just in case." Just in case the world had ended. Just in case he'd been forced to decide who the last person he'd ever see would be.
Veneziano isn't insulted by not being the person Romano was scared of never seeing again. He knows his brother too well to be offended.
And besides, whatever happened between them has taken thirteen years to make his brother think about her like this again.
"Do you still love her?"
Romano doesn't bite back by saying the question is bullshit or that he doesn't give a fuck. He doesn't mention Spain with whom he has something that would be real love if not for these moods of his that change and hurt him in a way Veneziano can't stand to watch. Romano just finishes his cigarette and reaches for the new pack to get another one. While South smokes, North drinks his wine and waits for the next bitter lines of conversation to fade out through the smoke.
"I still miss her."
Several more minutes of silence follow, not because there's nothing to fill it with, but because Veneziano can see the way Romano's eyes are out of focus. The pain is making a push for recognition, trying to force its way out of him and into the air between them, but his brother is stubborn and continues to hold it back, to beat and bury it away so it can't rampage just once and then fade away until next time.
Finally, when North Italy's prayers fall on deaf ears again and his brother regains full control without giving in and letting the demons pass, he stands up slowly and leaves his wine glass on the table. Reaching into his jacket's inner pocket as he walks over to his brother's chair, Veneziano pulls out the folded print-out of his brother's plane ticket and holds it out to him.
"Your flight leaves tomorrow morning. I'll drive you."
And Romano just stares at the paper with its information and bar-codes. He doesn't get angry, and he doesn't get offended. He doesn't try to play it off as something else or make up a reason for why this is stupid. He just takes it and he holds it in his hand, until finally he whispers one more time:
"Thank you."
Leave a review? I haven't used the words "Prologue" and "Epilogue" for a while, but the rest of the story will be from Romano's point of view. Thanks for reading!
