The Chancellery building was a massive structure, instantly recognizable by its severely geometric shape, all squares and circles and columns. It had housed his office for over ten years and Germany still wasn't entirely used to it.

Making his way past the security station, he headed straight for his office. There was so much to get done. Apologies needed to be said, written, and resaid in regards to yesterday's debacle, and only then could he start on the rest of his sizable workload. A tentative plan of action was already taking shape as he walked, and he felt some of the tension leave him as his mind imposed order on the coming day.

He hadn't seen a hair of Prussia since their fight and, frankly, he was relieved.

With a soft chime, the elevator doors opened at his floor, and he stepped out. He barely had a chance to enter the lobby area when he was accosted by a bony hand shoved in his direction. Shaking the hand on instinct, he recognized its owner as one of the many aides who worked in the building.

"Mr. Beilschmidt, good morning. Glad I bumped into you."

The formal, human name was no surprise. As time went on, it seemed less and less people were aware of the nations, and only a select few in his own government called him Germany these days.

Nodding, he echoed the pleasantry.

The aide started talking, and Germany resigned himself to the delay, tuning out the words in favor of cataloguing and prioritizing the day's pending tasks, refining his earlier plan. He was in the middle of calculating how long was left until he could make his excuses without appearing rude, when the next words overrode his train of thought.

"—well it was quite the apology and she was also very impressed with the revisions to the new proposal you drafted."

Exactly zero of that made any sense whatsoever, and Germany snapped his mind back to the previously one-sided conversation, lists and plans scattering in an instant. There was a lengthy, uncomfortable pause and it dawned on him that the aide was waiting for a response.

"What?" was all Germany could muster, mind still processing the odd statement.

"I said that everything is proceeding perfectly. I don't know how he did it, but your brother has impressed a lot of people this morning." Both thinning eyebrows were raised in an expression Germany chose to ignore.

He gave an absent reply, the words lost to his memory even as they were spoken. Uncaring of the potential breach in social protocol, he walked off, still reeling from the unexpected information.

An apology, the aide had said. Prussia had apologized? This early in the morning? Germany could count on his fingers the number of times he'd seen his brother issue any sort of retraction, and they were almost all for political reasons, a feint in a larger tactical scheme. Another explanation came to mind, far more unsettling. It was equally likely that Prussia had not apologized at all, but said something completely sarcastic and insulting, which everybody only misinterpreted as an apology. And when they figured it out, it would fall to Germany to clean up the mess.

None of those theories explained the strange remark about the draft proposal, but he chose not to worry about that yet. One problem at a time, he told himself, increasing his pace. Damage control had suddenly become a lot more important than it was ten minutes ago, and it had already been at the top of his agenda.

Opening his office door, he took several large steps inside before jerking to a halt. The momentum nearly sent him tripping over his feet and he stumbled to regain his balance.

There was someone already there, sitting in his chair.

He shouldn't have been surprised. It wasn't like Prussia had an office of his own to go to.

Not for lack of trying on Germany's part, though. He'd made the offer, back in the early 90s, and had gotten a paperweight thrown at his head and a shout about not needing any fucking charity for his trouble. He hadn't asked again since.

"Morning, West." Prussia looked up from the desktop computer and smiled, the type of wide, honest grin that Germany didn't usually see on him unless a heavy amount of alcohol was involved.

Germany squinted, thrown off his guard. He'd expected smugness and the usual cocky attitude at having caught him so visibly unawares, flush with whatever scheme he was no doubt plotting. Instead, bright, earnest eyes shined up at him, radiating sincerity and openness, and Germany was instantly suspicious.

He crossed his arms and met the gaze, trying to see past the façade, see what Prussia was really thinking.

"What's this I hear about an apology?" he asked, not bothering with pleasantries. It was a trait they both shared.

Prussia shrugged, the strange smile not wavering. "What of it? We have important issues to deal with. It'd be counterproductive to let something as petty as ego get in the way of that, so I apologized. End of story."

In his entire life, Germany had never heard his brother refer to his own ego or self as petty. Frowning, he ran the sentence over again in his mind, just to be sure he heard correctly. There didn't appear to be a mistake.

"It wasn't a fake apology?" he asked, gazing downwards, needing to be sure.

The look he received indicated that Prussia was reassessing his level of intelligence, and Germany didn't know whether to laugh in disbelief or bristle at the implication. He stood stiffly, waiting for an answer.

Prussia sat up straighter in the chair. "What would be the point of that, except to waste everyone's time. Efficiency, West!" He rapped his knuckles lightly against the desk for emphasis. "Anything worth doing is worth doing right the first time. I know I taught you that."

He had, Germany remembered. But at the time, Prussia had been referring to skills such as killing an enemy with a single shot, and timing an encirclement maneuver to cut off any retreat to safety. Sincere apologies were not on the curriculum.

A few steps took him right up to the desk, and he placed both hands on the polished wood surface to lean over until they were at eye level. Deciding to leave the topic of efficiency behind for now, he shifted his attention to another matter that had been bothering him since the conversation with the Ministry aide.

He took a deep breath, not sure he was prepared for the answer, and asked, "And the Green initiative? You made changes? Yesterday you said it was stupid."

Scrutinizing every pale feature as he spoke, Germany searched for any hint of what the hell was going on, if this was all a big joke or game. Surely any minute now, Prussia would burst out laughing and taunt him mercilessly for believing the act.

But there was nothing. Prussia just shrugged again and kept smiling. "Changed my mind. You were right, the environment's important and I should have realized it sooner."

A strangled choking sound filled the room and it took Germany a moment to realize it was coming from him. He straightened up from the desk, tugging at his suit jacket in an attempt to reclaim some of his dignity, and cleared his throat. It wasn't the first time Prussia had struck him speechless, but it was the first time in a while that alcohol wasn't involved in the occurrence.

Unobtrusively, he brought one hand to the opposite wrist and pinched. Hard.

The uncanny, genial version of his brother was still there, and he was beginning to doubt his prior thought about this being a joke. There was nothing additional to be gained by keeping up a charade like this, and Prussia was as efficient in his pranks as he was in his fights. Nothing made sense, and he found himself at a loss.

A headache was forming behind his eyes and he sighed, resisting the urge to rub at them. "What are you doing here, Prussia?" he asked, defeat warring with resignation.

Prussia shook his head lightly and let out a small, amused huff of air. "Don't look so tense, West. I told you, I came to apologize. But since you're late, I decided to get a head start on your work."

Without waiting for a response, Prussia furrowed his brow before making a small 'ah' sound and grabbing at large pad concealed beneath a neatly stacked pile of papers. He held it aloft. "See, right here. The concept was good, I just added a few improvements."

Ignoring the inaccurate jibe at his supposed lateness, Germany walked around the desk to stand next to Prussia's chair – his chair, but Prussia was sitting in it – and took the notepad. He recognized it as his preliminary notes for a new project he'd been assigned, but hadn't had time to develop past the initial concept. Skimming the small, slanted writing scribbled under and around his own neat print, his eyes grew wide. His rough plan to fund additional energy research had been augmented, and now contained a list of potential sectors to channel the money from, as well as approximate monetary estimates.

That wasn't what surprised him. Logistics had always been a specialty of Prussia's. It was the second sector on the list that caught his attention: Military spending. Leafing through the pages, they were filled with similar notes, and columns of numbers. He flipped the pad back to the cover page and looked up, again at a loss for words.

Prussia swiveled the chair around to face him, and leaned back, clearly pleased with himself. His expression fell slightly at the lack of reaction from Germany.

"Well?" he asked, red eyes glinting in expectation.

"I never thought I'd see the day when you voluntarily gave up military funds. You've never been much interested in any other areas."

Leaning forward, Prussia propped his elbows on each of the chair's armrests and steepled his fingers, regarding Germany seriously from above them. "That's not fair and you know it. I've done plenty of things outside the military. My education system, as you should know, was way ahead of its time. A little credit, please."

That was true, Germany conceded with a nod. He was surprised to realize that the rebuke was free of the bevy of curses his brother so frequently liked to employ. One more piece of strangeness on top of a morning of strange.

It was a pleasant change, but it put him no closer to figuring this out. "Who are you?" he asked, unable to think of anything else to say.

Prussia laughed and got up from the chair to sling an arm around his shoulders. "Don't be an idiot, West! You're not the only one who knows how to run a country. Now, stop wasting time, we have a lot to get done today!"

Don't be an idiot. At the words, Germany flashed back to his conversation with Italy the previous night, and to the wish he'd made afterwards. It couldn't be, he thought. Wishes didn't actually come true. It was much more likely that some part of their argument had actually penetrated Prussia's stubborn head, and this was his way of attempting to finally enter the twenty-first century.

He turned the thought over several times in his mind before deciding that whatever had caused the unexpected about-face didn't matter. What mattered was that Prussia was finally acting like the sort of person he was proud to be around.

As the day wore on, Germany kept waiting for things to revert back to normal, for Prussia to erupt in a stream of insults and curses at anyone who dared disagree with him, or to simply get bored and go home. But it never happened.

They had several meetings to attend, and throughout all of them, Prussia had been kind, respectful, professional; the type of behavior he knew his brother was capable of, but which he usually preferred not to exhibit in peacetime. More than one person had come up to them to remark on what a good team they made. The pile of work that appeared so daunting in the morning proved to be barely more than a minor obstacle with two people working at it together.

As late afternoon descended into evening, Germany decided that there was only one thing that could make the day better. He nudged at Prussia's shoulder, where he sat working diligently nearby, fingers flying over a small laptop keyboard. They'd dragged in an extra chair and computer for him earlier, as Germany's desk was plenty big enough for two people to work at comfortably.

White hair went flying as Prussia jerked his head around at the touch. His hands stilled and he blinked several times.

"Ready for a beer?" Germany asked. "I thought we'd go to that place you're always trying to drag me to. With the jukebox."

On previous occasions, he'd always refused to go to that particular venue, clearly able to image the antics his brother could get up to with a machine like that, filled with nothing but 80s power ballads. But Prussia had done so much for him today, and he wanted to do something in return. And if that meant exposure to cheesy music and drunken singing, then he was willing to grin and face it.

Prussia ran a hand through his hair. "Ah, no thanks. Don't really feel like drinking."

Unable to think of anything to say, Germany settled for staring. He seemed to be doing a lot of that today. What had the world come to when his brother didn't want to go to a bar and drink beer? Those were two of his favorite pastimes.

His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Shaking his head, he tried again. But all that came out was, "Excuse me?"

"Let's stay in a watch a movie or something."

It wasn't a bad idea, he thought, and a quiet night in did sound nice, so he was happy to go along with the new plan. "I'd like that," he answered, and began straightening his desk in preparation to leave.

When they got home, Germany grabbed himself a beer from the fridge while Prussia went downstairs to change out of his suit.

"You want one?" he called out.

"Nope, I'm good." Prussia's voice drifted up from the basement.

Depositing the single bottle on the kitchen table, Germany retreated into his own room to do the same.

After a quiet dinner they settled onto opposite sides of the couch, and Germany picked up the remote control to begin flicking through the channels in search of a suitable action movie. Soon enough, a series of explosions, loud dialogue, and intricately choreographed fight scenes were playing out on the screen in front of them.

Not even twenty minutes had gone by when Germany shifted on the couch, restless. Several minutes later he did it again.

"You okay?" Prussia asked, turning his head slightly.

Germany nodded and forced himself to stop moving. "Yes, fine."

They resumed watching the movie.

The feeling of agitation subsided, and he had almost convinced himself he was imagining things, when it flared up again even stronger. A powerful urge to get up and do something, though he had no idea what that might be. Taking the last sip from his beer, he sneaked a glance sideways, hoping the dark room, lit solely by the flickering screen, would mask the movement.

Prussia was slouched back against the couch looking at ease, one leg crossed wide over his knee, hand drumming against his leg in time to the movie's background music. The glare of the television played across his features, making him look even paler than he already was.

The loud boom of an explosion nearly made Germany jump, and his head snapped towards the source of the noise. On screen, an entire building was collapsing into rubble and flame, and his first thought was that whoever was in charge of demolition consulting should have been fired. He'd watched countless buildings collapse in his lifetime and that was one of the worst fakes he'd ever seen.

He opened his mouth to say just that, and comprehension hit him like a bucket of cold water. His uneasiness, the feeling of something missing, why he wasn't able to relax.

The last time they watched a movie—no, every time they watched a movie—Prussia would spew the most outrageous stream of inane commentary, and it drove Germany crazy. But no matter how angry he started out, by the end they were always both yelling advice to the screen, laughing at the badly choreographed fight scenes, and pointing out all the historical inaccuracies.

Tonight, there was nothing at all. Prussia had been perfectly silent.

Germany suddenly wanted that stupid commentary.

The room seemed far too large, the noise from the television no longer enough to fill the space. He shifted again on the couch, words spilling forth impulsively. "That was a pathetic excuse for a demolition. A child could have done it better."

Prussia made a non-committal noise and turned back to the movie.

Disappointment coursed through him with a strength he was unprepared for, and Germany felt the slightest bit hurt at the obvious disinterest. He was being childish, he told himself sternly. Shoving the juvenile thought aside, he got up to fetch another beer.

He didn't waste his breath to ask Prussia if he wanted one.

They watched the rest of the movie in silence.

.

Germany half expected the world to return to normal the next day, but upon entering the kitchen, there was Prussia sitting at the table, dressed smartly in a suit with his jacket hanging off the chair back and unknotted tie draped around his neck. A steaming mug was set on the table nearby.

"Morning, West. I left you some coffee," he greeted, too cheerful for someone who previously claimed that getting up at dawn had become obsolete with the advent of electricity.

Reaching into a cabinet for his usual mug, Germany poured himself a cup before responding. "You're coming in to work again?"

The mug halted halfway to Prussia's mouth. "There's a bunch of stuff I didn't get done yesterday. Hope you don't mind sharing your office again." He took the delayed sip with a satisfied hum.

Germany was about to protest, to insist that they would find Prussia his own space, when an unexpected thought flashed through his mind. He had enjoyed sharing his office yesterday. Pausing, he examined the thought from all angles, searching for the flaw.

"If you act like you did yesterday, then yes, we can share," he answered, taking a seat at the table with his now full mug of coffee.

Prussia didn't appear offended by the response. If anything, he looked pleased. "It's a deal," he agreed.

For the rest of the week, the same pattern continued to repeat itself day after day. In the mornings, Prussia was waiting in the kitchen with coffee, and they would both go to the office. The work went faster and Germany got more done than he'd ever dared to hope, settling seamlessly into a routine beside his brother, the two of them working effortlessly together as if they'd been doing it all along.

The apprehensive thoughts that plagued him that first night seemed silly in the light of day; the nervous thoughts of a little boy seeking validation, and not that of a grown, powerful nation. He let them fade into practically nothing. Occasionally, he would feel a faint stirring of unease, but for lack of any other explanation, attributed it as nothing more than the discomfort of adjusting to a new routine.

"Prussia," he asked, getting his brother's attention. "Can you take a look at this report. Something's off about it and I'd appreciate your insight."

He passed a thin manila folder across the desk. They'd been working side by side for almost a week and Germany had gotten used to having someone he could trust act as a second opinion.

Prussia gave him a pleasant smile. "Sure, I'm on it."

Taking the folder, he put it at the top of his pile, and it didn't escape Germany's notice that he had chosen to place the documents in a position of high priority, as opposed to slipping them underneath the stack the way he tended to do for less important work.

Returning his attention to the computer, Germanys resumed his own work, already feeling lighter. There was nothing to be worrying about. Everything was neatly in its place, exactly the way he liked it.

He ignored the slight twinge that surfaced at the thought.

.

It was the first weekend since Prussia began joining him at the office, and Germany was taking full advantage of having absolutely no work to attend to.

Long distance runs were an indulgence he didn't often have the opportunity to take, as they were time consuming, but today he ran until he was sweaty and breathless and energized in that particular way only a good workout brought. The weather was beautiful; cool enough to be pleasant but not yet cold enough to chase him indoors, and so even after returning home, he lingered, working off the exercise high with a series of cool-down stretches in the front yard.

Prussia emerged from the house, dressed in casual clothes and a light sweater.

Bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, Germany approached. He rolled his shoulders. "Want to spar? It's been a while."

Sparring with older brother was always a fun challenge. Germany was stronger, but Prussia was faster and had the edge in experience. It would be the perfect way to get rid of the extra post-run energy, as well as an excellent opportunity to spend some non-work time together. Though they'd been constantly in each other's presence all week, he felt like he hadn't actually seen Prussia in ages.

Rather than the enthusiastic acceptance he'd been expecting, Prussia merely shook his head. "No thanks. Not really in the mood."

"Oh," he said, disappointed. Changing tactics, he raised an eyebrow and added, "Afraid you'll lose?" Taunts like that never failed to get a rise out of his brother, even when only spoken in jest.

This time the words sailed right over his head. "Nah, just don't really feel like it. I'm going to go take a walk." With a pleasant smile that seemed to be his sole expression nowadays, he wandered off.

Watching him disappear down the street, the feeling of wrongness that had been intermittently plaguing Germany all week came back full force, and this time he couldn't blame it on the change in his work routine.

Prussia didn't want to fight, didn't want to drink, was abnormally even tempered, and had replaced all of his hobbies with days of working diligently in the office.

Germany never thought he'd see the day when he was upset by that. But he was upset. Because he was finally able to place a label on the troubling feelings that had been hounding him since that first morning after their fight, living not quite unnoticed in the back of his mind.

He missed his brother.