Title: Watercolors
Warnings: Minor Language
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, that would be slavery.
AN: I rewrote the first chapter, if you hadn't noticed. Also, this would've been out sooner, but I type these on my tablet and save them to a cloud, only for the cloud to tell me the server had been updated but not my documents and I had to rewrite this thing several times.
"Dwee dee dooo," America walks through the halls of the conference building, periodically making noises to the melody of the Mission Impossible theme song. He ignores the looks that inevitably get thrown his way by passing staff and nations. The American's first attempt earlier in the week to cheer up Spain had been a complete disaster, at least in the sunny blonde's mind it was. America was suffering no delusions, he hadn't expected his sketch to utterly eradicate the troubles that plagued the Spaniard's mind, but he had hoped for something more. For all his effort and hasty planning, he was rewarded with the sight of Spain pulling his drawing out from under its hiding spot, and not much else. The North American had been so giddy with anticipation that he had waited at the edge of his seat… and then he waited, and waited, and waited some more. All Spain did was stare at the picture with a vacant expression for the rest of the meeting. Well, now that America looked back, it wasn't exactly a vacant expression; more like a distant 'lost in the roiling mental darkness' of life being a bitch, expression. It sucked.
Of course, America is always accused of being a 'stubborn jackass' (to quote a certain bushy browed individual) and one flop wasn't enough to deter the younger nation from his present course of action. He would just have to try again the next day, and the next, and every meeting after until he created something that would make the Spaniard's famous smile return. The second attempt hadn't fared much better. That time, America had attempted to deliver a sketch to Spain in person, complete with the warmest, sorrow melting smile the American could muster. Smiles are scientifically proven to be infectious, after all.
The blonde nation had caught Spain during lunch, but his efforts to initiate a conversation had all been shot down. Spain would give small, noncommittal one word responses and the whole situation just made the American feel incredibly awkward, and just a tad dejected. So, America eventually excused himself and resolved to just leave the new sketch in the same delivery spot as the previous day. As expected, his gifted garnered very little in the way of a satisfying response.
"This time will be different," America reassures himself as he heads towards the conference room. Interestingly enough, America had forgotten to sign any of his creations. This wouldn't be an important detail if it weren't for the fact that the nations of the world are expert gossipmongers. After the fourth day of the meeting, the sketches had received attention and rumors began flying about their purpose and who was sending them. Although cheering up Spain is still his main goal, not getting caught is now a secondary goal. The whole mystery the sketches are creating is quite amusing, and America is having fun delivering his gifts to the Mediterranean man without anyone noticing.
"Crap," the American says under his breath as he rounds a corner that leads towards the conference room. France and Prussia are hanging about right outside the door. They're having what appears to be a normal conversation during the lunch break, but the North American notices that they appear to be keeping discerning eyes on their immediate surroundings. He walks back around the corner before he can be detected. How was he going to get in there unnoticed?
America places a free hand into his jacket and feels the small manila envelope stored there for safe keeping. Inside was the American's latest creation. Finding that simple sketches weren't capturing the required amounts of adorableness, the American had decided to try something new. After aimlessly meandering around the host city after yet another failure, the blue eyed male had inadvertently ended up in an art supply shop. Almost immediately, azure eyes landed upon a gleaming metal tin containing a watercolor field kit. It beckoned to the young nation. Pleasant memories danced across its lustrous surface. As he reached for it on the shelf, he could hear an eighteenth century England informing him in a very serious tone, "Watercolor painting is an incidental adornment of a proper, English education."
Apparently, to England, 'incidental' meant sparing no expense and gloating about your 'little brother' to stuck up Frogs. He immediately bought the kit and a pad containing paper about the size of a greeting card. America could get absurdly detailed when he painted with watercolors, and he didn't have time for that. The smaller paper will help him curb his urge to get every last detail and color perfect simply because he doesn't have enough room.
"What to do," the North American mutters as he removes his hand from his jacket and tries to figure out a plan of action. He ponders for a moment before the proverbial light bulb flashes above his head. America doesn't need to get into the conference room unnoticed, he simply has to deliver the package unnoticed. The blonde turns and heads for the reception area. He scans the area and quickly zeroes in on an aide. A rather attractive middle aged woman with her hair up, giving off the classic, sexy librarian vibe.
"Excuse me Ma'am, I was wondering if you had a spare itinerary…" the American says with a shy smile. Adding the metaphorical cherry on top, he briefly looks down with a slight, embarrassed blush before continuing, "I seem to have lost mine."
"Of course," the aide eventually says after giving the American a once over. America gives her a relieved smile, and can't help but notice how she seems to have a gleam in her eye that reveals she wouldn't mind teaching the seemingly young, and inexperienced man a thing or two.
"Thank you," America says after he is handed the itinerary. He gives the woman an embarrassed smile, and appears as if he is about to say something more, but turns and walks away toward the conference room. The aide watches his retreating form with a raised brow.
"I should audition for a movie sometime," America takes a mental note before he starts humming the Mission Impossible theme. Taking a quick glance around, the American pulls the envelope out from his jacket and rests it on top of the itinerary. He stops near the wall just before rounding the corner towards the meeting. Opening the envelope, America pulls out his latest creation. After buying the field kit, the blonde immediately ran off to his hotel room and got to work. It had been quite some time since he had actually 'used' watercolor paint, but quickly remembered why he had taken to them when he was younger. You had to anticipate how the paint would act and move, and there were several techniques that made it challenging and fun all at once. He wondered why he ever stopped… Oh, right, being a superpower and videogames.
It took most of the night, but America had managed to create a post card sized painting of Spain and Romano Italy dressed as Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, respectively. The American has done some research on the Spanish nation in the past few days; Intel is a vital part of any successful mission after all. After looking up famous Spaniards, the American somehow made it to a page all about Cervantes and Don Quixote. The book sounded so awesome that it inspired his latest creation and he actually ordered a copy online. Plus, it would totally ruffle England's feathers; especially when he's literally spent decades trying to get America to read 'proper' literature. Comic books were totally 'literature'.
America has painted Spain atop a horse, appearing to be chatting animatedly; while Romano is struggling to stay seated on a short donkey looking like he is about to throttle some poor soul. In the back ground was a lone windmill that the American couldn't resist the urge to throw a pissed off looking Netherlands next to. Hearing steps coming towards him, the North American quickly opens the itinerary and stuffs the painting between the pages. They pass by without incident and America quickly adjusts the painting so that a very small, barely noticeable portion is poking out the top.
The envelope and itinerary are then stuffed into his famous jacket and the American walks around the corner and towards the two nations that are still guarding the door to the conference area. Somehow, the Mission Impossible theme mutates into the Indian Jones theme in his head, and he practically struts down the hall in time with it. Prussia, motions towards him with a nod, signaling France to turn around and face the newcomer. America gives his best airheaded smile and waves to the two as he approaches.
"Howdy!" America says cheerfully as he stops near the two. While maintaining his smile, he adopts a mildly perplexed expression. "What's going on?"
"Not much, just chatting and standing guard," Prussia says as he slaps a hand onto America's shoulder. France gives a momentary smile as a greeting but allows the other two to do the talking.
"Why are you standing guard?" America asks, before his eyes narrow. He looks around with a paranoid expression before continuing in a hushed tone, "Is it Russia? I bet he tried to break in."
"Relax," Prussia says with a chuckle. "No one tried to break in. We're just keeping track of who comes and goes… for safety reasons."
"Sounds like a good idea to me," the North American says. "Um, would it be alright if I went into the conference room, I forgot my briefcase. It has important documents in it." America says the last part quietly as he leans towards the argent haired male. Both Prussia and France exchange glances, America gives a nervous little laugh.
"I've been getting into a lot of trouble with my boss for doing that, please don't tell anyone," America begs. After a brief moment, France steps away from the door as Prussia opens it and motions for the American to enter. The American stares directly into crimson eyes and gives a beaming smile while saying, "Thanks!"
He enters the room at what he believes is a normal pace. Now he just needs to complete his mission without anyone seeing. America doesn't turn around to see if Prussia or France are watching him; that would be an obvious sign to the two older nations that he is up to something. However, he notes that he hasn't heard the audible click of a door closing, so it is better to assume that it is still open, and that someone is keeping an eye on things. The American walks alongside the front row, it will give him access to a center aisle that will take him directly to the guest area in the far back of the room. Luckily, Spain's assigned seat is located in the front row America is currently walking down. As he walks by, he runs his hand on every tabletop between the dividers. He hopes that it will 'desensitize' whoever is watching him to the action as well as portraying it as an action that is momentarily amusing the American.
As he draws nearer towards his target at the end of the row, the American feels some excitement. He hasn't done any cloak and dagger type stuff since the end of the Cold War with Russia. It is quite exhilarating. Finally, he reaches his target. Continuing the motion that he started at the beginning of the row, the American juts his left hand between the dividers and places it on the itinerary that Spain has been leaving on his desk every meeting. Quickly, in one swift motion, he slides the itinerary off the table top and presses it between the side of his leg and hand. Rounding the corner to take the aisle, America uses the cover afforded by the divider to put the itinerary into his right hand, freeing the left to once again trail across the rows.
Eventually reaching his seat, the American grabs his briefcase and places it onto the table. He uses the opportunity to throw a glance towards the open door. Prussia was holding the door open by standing against it. The Germanic nation's attention seems to be focused more on France, who is standing just outside the door way in the hall. Though, one can't be too careful when it came to the Prussian. He is far wilier than most would give him credit for.
"Better put on a show," America thinks as he moves to open his briefcase. He glances around the room in an effort to look like he was making sure it was clear, before finally opening it and checking that it still contained all of its contents. Of course, the American's newly acquired itinerary was placed in the briefcase during the process. Feeling a bit bold, the blonde nation even pulls out the now empty manila envelope and itinerary housing his painting in plain sight. The manila envelope gets stuffed into the briefcase while the 'package', as America has started mentally calling it, gets placed on the table.
He soon closes his briefcase and makes sure that the locks audibly click shut and grabs the itinerary in his right hand. With his left hand, he grabs the briefcase and proceeds to walk off down the aisle towards the awaiting Prussian. Once again he puts on a show and lightly swings his briefcase back and forth to draw attention away from his right hand. As he rounds Spain's desk, he swings the briefcase up so that it momentarily obstructs Prussia's view of the table. America uses the brief amount of time to slip the itinerary in his right hand onto the Spaniard's section of the table and continues walking towards the exit while swinging his briefcase.
"So, what did you have for lunch?" America asks Prussia as he walks past and through the door. Prussia looks bored, hopefully that means that his actions have gone unnoticed.
"I haven't had lunch yet," Prussia says with a matter of fact tone.
"Dude, seriously?" America says with disbelief. Normally, he'd stay and chat, but he himself was hungry. "Well, that's your problem, I'm off to eat something while I still have time."
Continuing down the hall, America waits until he has rounded a corner before breaking out in a giddy little shake and hop. That was fun. The American can't help but feel that this time, his gift will actually, noticeably accomplish something.
The lunch break passes without much excitement. Hungary had invited herself and her camera to lunch with England and Romano. With England being a self-proclaimed gentleman, and Romano being Italian, it ensured that Hungary would essentially get what she wanted as long as she played up lady-like appearances. It certainly hadn't harmed her efforts when she roped Belgium into her scheme.
"Man," America muses to himself as he watches the conference room fill up with returning nations. "The Europeans sure are a sneaky bunch."
Prussia and France are still standing 'guard' by the entrance. They appear to be continuing their conversation off to the side while politely holding the doors open. America briefly frets that his cover will be blown as he watches them. If he was the only nation to enter the conference room during the lunch break, it wouldn't be terribly difficult for them to discern who left Spain his gift. However, America eventually reassures himself that he has nothing to worry about. The commotion of a bunch of returning nations is far too great for the 'would-be' spy catches to adequately keep tabs over from their single lookout position at the front of the room. Each nation that enters the conference room before Spain, the more likely it is that America's actions will escape unnoticed.
Speaking of Spain, the nation that has recently occupied so much of the American's thoughts enters the room. America notes that today he appears to be much better off than he was earlier in the week. The Spaniard is even communicating with people now. He still isn't smiling, and fells as if he is 'there' but isn't. It was a vibe that was difficult for the American to quite pin down and describe. It is like going to a store and the sales person is all smiles and happily trying to sell you something; but you can tell that they are miserable and hate their job and feel like some creepy robot that is freaking you out the whole time you have to speak with them. Although Spain isn't smiling, and definitely isn't radiating a creepy vibe, it is a similar situation in America's mind.
France and Prussia initiate a conversation with Spain, and America can't tell from their expressions that they are clearly worried about their friend. After a few brief moments, Spain excuses himself and heads towards his assigned seat in the front row. America can't help but feel happiness bubble up as the Spaniard immediately turns his attention towards the itinerary after seating himself. The American inches closer to the edge of his seat as Spain lifts up the itinerary with one hand and checks if there is anything under it. A small, disappointed frown forms, and for some unexplainable reason, the sight makes the North American slightly happy.
At the same time it frustrates him. He should have exposed more of the painting and America resists the urge to stand up and tell the Mediterranean man to open up the itinerary. It wouldn't matter much if anyone knew that he was the 'mystery artist', but he didn't want to ruin his or anyone else's fun. The nations of the world practically ran a professional gossip league. Spain sets the itinerary back down onto the table, and after a momentary pauses seems to finally get the idea to check the insides of the itinerary. America watches as he flips through the pages and the painting slides out and flutters away before landing on the floor. The American can't help but notice the looks of shock on Prussia's and France's faces as they realize that they have been out played.
"In your faces!" America taunts in his mind. The two nations eventually narrow their eyes and start to thoroughly scan the conference room. Hastily, the blue eyed American adopts a bored, vacant expression as he rests his chin on his left hand. He diverts his attention back towards Spain. Said nation has fortuitously turned in his seat towards the American when he moved to pick up the fallen painting. Spain is holding the post card side work of art in one hand while lightly brushing a finger from his free hand across the surface. America watches with growing concern as the older nation takes on a sorrowful expression. His green eyes eventually soften and the younger nation can tell that he is lost in some memory. The look Spain is displaying is one in which America has caught England giving when they visit certain places, or stumble across memorable items. Slowly, a small, barely noticeable bittersweet smile tugs at the corner of the Spaniard's mouth.
With a great amount of willpower and self-control that would impress any detractor, the American resists the urge to break out into a victory dance right then and there. Although it wasn't the smile he was hoping for, it was definitely something, an improvement in his mind. Without his knowing, a genuinely happy, and equally goofy looking smile spreads across the American's face. With one minor victory under his belt, America resolves to continue his present course until he eventually accomplishes his goal.