"You're Israel…" France said softly. She- Amiel -no, Israel, grinned. The type of grin that would be described as… well, shit-eating.

"Bingo, pretty boy. Now ring. Back. Or your face will soon be meeting with my fist. I have a feeling that they won't get along too well." Israel held out her hand, and France dropped the ring into her palm. She slid it back on her finger- the one on which you would normally put a wedding ring.

"But, wait…" Prussia was obviously confused. "Israel's only been around for, what, sixty years? So why do you have a ring from Rome?"

"I wasn't always Israel," Israel faked a yawn and stretched. "And if you're going to try to get me to the next world conference, which you three are obviously headed for, you're out of luck. I've managed to stay out of that shit for long enough, I don't want to have to deal with it now."

"But why? The world meetings are fun! Oh! And you can meet mi querido Lovi! He's so funny, even though he looks like a tomato, and he hits people a lot and threatens them with his-" Israel leaned over France- in retrospect, probably not the smartest move- to slap her hand across Spain's mouth before he could say the word 'mafia' on a crowded airplane.

"Just because you think no one can hear you doesn't mean that no one is listening." She gave Spain a warning glance, which he returned with a grin; then moved back to her own seat. "And France, please remove your hand from my leg or I may have to bite it off." France, however, did not, because it is a commonly known fact that the French don't realize when something is not a good idea if they want to live to see the next sunrise. "I'm warning you, France…"

"You may call me Francis," he moved his hand further up Israel's thigh, "and, may I ask, how did you know what Antonio was going to say? He could have been talking about a pet dog, after all."

Israel gave him a look that practically screamed drop dead, and slapped his hand. "I heard Rome go on and on and on about his precious grandsons, I know what their names are, and knowing Romano, it was pretty easy to predict. Now, move your hand."

"Why should he?" Prussia put his hand on her other leg. "Why should we listen to you, anyway? You're smaller than us, pretty unawesome, and not that powerful."

"Yes, but," Israel leaned towards Prussia, her lips as close as possible without actually touching his ear. "One: my two greatest allies are America, and his brother Canada… who, if I'm not mistaken, is your current lover. Two: you think Hungary was scary? I invented badass before you were even close to being born. Three: I have nukes, bitch. Now get your hand off my leg." She pulled away and crossed her arms, and within the next few seconds, the annoyance that was Prussia's hand was gone.

"Francis, I really think you should move your hand, Amiel looks sort of angry…" Spain was too nice to his friends, Israel reflected. He gave them too much leeway.

"This is the last warning I'm going to give you," Israel notified France, who simply grinned at the veiled threat.

"Ouch, merde, merde! Let go!" France's cries were muffled by the sound of the engine as the plane finally took off, and the flight attendants didn't see Israel bending France's hand back the wrong way. "I'm sorry, just let go! Merde!" He shook his hand out, looking rather displeased.

"Can't say I didn't warn you." Israel leaned down, pulled her backpack out of the foot-well, and unzipped a small pocket to get out a pack of gum. "Gum, anyone?"

"Sure!" Spain grabbed the piece he was offered, whilst France and Prussia were wondering why she was being so nice to them now.

"A bit of advice, boys." One corner of Israel's mouth tilted up into a lopsided smile. "Live in the present. Don't let what happened in the past affect you overly, because however much it hurt then, it's over with now. And if you can't let go, then don't let it control you. Running away doesn't work either, the world always catches up to you."

"Like we caught you now?" Prussia meant for it to be a joke, but was shocked- yet again; this was almost becoming a habit- when Israel nodded.

"I ran away, and managed it for a few thousand years, but I'm caught again. It really wouldn't work for me to refuse going to the conference, I bet someone would go to the trouble to track me down anyway. If my peace is shattered, I may as well grind the bits into dust." She grinned, showing teeth that looked suspiciously like they had previously been sharpened to points- Prussia would know, he'd done the same in his days of blood and conquerors-.

"And once I see America, I'm going to give him a good beating. That idiot. I can't wait to see what he's like in person." She scowled, and suddenly France and Prussia were feeling a lot warmer towards her. Now, Spain, anyone that knew his Lovi, or knew someone that knew his Lovi, or liked tomatoes, or made good food- no, wait, rambling now, go back to Lovi, - was fine with him. Which explained the huge smile he'd been wearing since they met.

"Well, we are obviously going to America for the conference, but why are you on this flight?" France, always the one to pry into other's business, awaited an answer he was not sure would come. The Bad Touch Trio had been at France's house to celebrate… well, nothing really, just to reminisce about old times and get drunk without angry lovers breathing down their necks. But why was Israel in France?

"I'm on a mission," Israel said, matter of factly. Wait.., a mission? On who's orders? Spain didn't realize that he'd said that out loud until Israel replied with, "Well, obviously, I can't talk about it. I probably shouldn't have even told you that I was on a mission in the first place. Although one of you is somewhat pathetic in matters of warfare, the other dead, and the third about as dense as they come."

France was not amused, Prussia grinned ("I'm so awesome that death couldn't handle my sheer awesomeness"), and Spain just looked sort of confused.

"But you're a nation," Prussia whispered. He was, actually, capable of being subtle, no matter what the normal opinion of his bold, brash ways was. He knew when to shut up- most of the time, what to say- not that he paid heed to that, and what not to say- which he said anyway, because angry people were amusing.

"Use your brain," Israel flicked his forehead with a force he was sure would leave a mark later on. Prussia could almost feel the bruise forming now… "Yes, smart one, I'm a nation. But I've been hiding. I had to have some way to make money to buy food and live and stuff like that. There's not enough unpopulated or unpatrolled desert for me to live there like I used to. So, I decided to put my various talents to use. I'm working for some people," here, Israel's voice dropped to an almost inaudible volume, even though the other passengers were watching out the windows as the airport dropped away and they sailed into the cobalt sky. "I'm a 'child genius' that's working in the intelligence section. After living through other empire's demises, revolts, wars, and a hell of a lot more, I can pick out the patterns that show something's going to happen. The others think that I'm an orphan with an amazingly high IQ, and a strong sense of patriotism. Not too far off the bat, technically."

"So, what do you do besides finding patterns?" Spain asked, genuine curiosity coloring his voice. Even though he was sort of thick when it came to reading the atmosphere, etc, even he was picking up on the subtle hints Israel was leaving, hints that she was more than she seemed.

"Well, after a while," there's another one, Spain noted, "you learn a bit about things you might not necessarily want to know. If I can take over some of the jobs for my government rather than have my people that can get hurt and die do the jobs, it's worth flying all over. Even if it is a pain to have weapons deposits in all these countries."

"… You're an… assassin?" Prussia was turning the idea around in his head. Yes, he could definitely see Israel in black leather with guns, knifes, and those nun-chuck thingies that Korea claimed he invented. Damn, this chick was getting cooler by the minute!

"I guess you could put it like that." Israel held up a hand to stop what would inevitably be a flow of questions from Prussia (What weapons do you use? Were you behind any of America's president's assassinations? Do you have an awesome kick-ass spy outfit?). "We're on a plane, meshugenah."

"… Does the awesome me want to know?"

"If you need to ask…"

The rest of the flight was rather calm, except for a few occasions. Such as:

Israel and Prussia dumping their complementary pretzels in France's seat, and then covering it with his coat when he went to the bathroom (which resulted in a very angry France, and a horrified mother covering the ears of her child in the row in front, as France did not mince words when his glorious fashion was ruined).

France, Prussia, Israel, and Spain making remarks on people's clothes, hair, shoes, and looks in general like they were teenaged girls (when one woman that looked suspiciously like the very definition of a trophy wife heard their scathing commentary on her choice of a leopard skin dress, she was almost ready to slap them. The Trio figured they had Israel's patented smile-of–ice-that–threatens–of–bad–things-to-come to thank that they didn't have any more marks on their faces).

Spain falling asleep and sprawling halfway out into the aisle (end result: a blonde in her 20's spent too much time looking at his face and not where his feet were, and found herself facedown in the aisle, much to the hilarity of the other three in the section).

Israel sleep-biting France when he tried to poke her face when she was taking a nap (France's finger was bleeding, and he tried to explain it away as a bad paper cut, but the flight attendant saw right through it).

And, speaking of flight attendants… France and Prussia, making bets on the color of underwear the different women were wearing. Only to be told off by a very irritated Israel when they tried to guess her own (when Spain woke up, he wondered how France and Prussia had managed to get identical cherry red slap marks on their face).

Finally, to the relief of all the flight attendants, the passengers seated near them, and basically everyone except for an aspiring novelist who was using their shenanigans as creative fodder, the Bad Touch Trio (plus Israel) got off the plane.

Israel walked in between France and Spain (Prussia led the way, he had come to America with Canada multiple times, like when Canada decided a hamburger intervention was needed (but that's a story for a whole other time)), and the four headed to the baggage claim, bickering all the way. Israel only had once suitcase of clothes, along with her backpack, she informed them, that was basically everything she had/needed. France was, of course, shocked, and resolved to take her shopping as soon as they were settled into the hotel, a revelation at which Israel groaned, rolled her eyes, and mumbled something about not needing the heaps of clothes that the Frenchman was sure to bestow upon her, and the stupidity of Frenchmen in general.

And as the quartet walked to the rental car, Israel calling shotgun ("There is no way I am sitting between Francis and Gilbert again, not unless you want another war breaking out!" "But ma chere, I was simply trying to teach you about l'amour~" "Francis, I've been around longer than you have. I think I know a bit more about love than you do. And if your hand doesn't move from my back pocket, I will cut it off. And then feed it to you, after it's been roasted by England."), she came to a decision.

Maybe these men aren't the best possible company, but they accept me. For now, the nasty voice in her head popped up again. I'll stick with them, and if things go bad… well, I can hide from things pretty damn well. But if I get to the world conference and it's full of stuck up bastards… And she was off again into her mental deliberation of which gun would deal most effectively with shutting said bastards up.

But she had decided to stay, and her companions noticed it, welcoming her into the family. Figuratively, of course, because if all the nations were a family... That's dysfunctional at its finest.

When they arrived at the hotel, everyone was sporting some new bruises.

Authoress' Random Ramble

Alright, I'll address some things here:

1: Yes, I know that Amiel can be a boy's name ^^ In my head, Israel chose her name herself, and she liked that one. She's a huge tomboy (she didn't think she was a boy, just hated acting like a girl), and she doesn't give a crap what other people think about her. I also chose it for the meaning.

2: Israel isn't abusive, what with all the times she hits France, Spain, and Prussia. Like how Romano has a foul mouth, she tends to hit people. But only when they deserve it. She doesn't know her own strength sometimes ^^ (Oh yeah, when she calls Prussia a meshugenah… It basically means crazy person in Yiddish)

3: Yay, they get to go shopping~! I think I enjoy putting my characters in awkward situations… (Just imagine France in a women's clothing store… Nuff said)

4: Thanks for the reviews and story alerts! I really didn't think a lot of other people would like Israel… But she is pretty kickass, non?

Less than three. Less than three.