[A/N: Forgive the lateness, WhiteCrow decided that she wanted to take a long time, which, you can't blame her... things stack up, better late than never, huh. ~melonkitty]
Chapter 7
Kazoku
Tsuki exited the library silently, leaving Afanasi to talk with Germany. She sighed, leaning against the wall outside. Nasi-chan had been agitated lately, something gnawing at her on the inside. She let her body slide down into a sitting position, her arms folded across her knees.
"Musume-chan?"
She looked up into the face of the mellow Asian man that she knew as her father. Japan crouched down to look her in the eye.
"Is there something wrong?" he asked, concerned for his daughter.
"Iie," she lied, forcing a smile. "Everything is just fine."
Japan set his mouth in a straight line. He knew she was lying. He had done the same thing before himself. He knew that attitude, that tone.
"Come," he said, taking her hand and pulling her up. "Itaria-kun is making dinner for us."
She followed obediently, completely silent, as her father led her into the kitchen. Italy was already hard at work, mixing the sauce and tasting it every so often to test its flavor. He squinted his eyes and added some more spices. He dipped the spoon in the pot once more and tasted it, this time his eyes lighting up.
"Delizioso!" he cried and continued stirring.
"Italy-kun," Japan said, coming forward. "Would you mind if I helped you? It is the most I can do."
"Oh but I can't allow that, Japan!" Italy gasped, holding the spoon against his chest and getting some sauce on his shirt. "You're a guest here! I can't ask you do to such a thing!"
"But, Italy-kun…" Tsuki spoke up from behind them. "Are you not also a guest in this house?"
Italy paused, thinking this question over. He hadn't thought of that response…
"Um… well… It's because…" he stuttered until something popped into his head. "Germany says that I come here so often, it's like I almost live here! So I don't count as a guest."
Hah… I'm so smart…
Tsuki cocked her head and put the tip of her kimono sleeve in her mouth, her eyes blank and a little confused. Italy giggled at the sight. She probably didn't know it, but she was adorable.
"May I help, Italy-san?" she asked quietly, drawing her sleeve away slightly.
Italy thought this over for a bit. He wouldn't mind the help… but she didn't need to. He glanced at Japan. If he declined, the Asian man would keep insisting on helping him. Therefore he picked the latter of two evils.
"Sure, Tsuki," he smiled, gesturing for her to come forward.
"Domo," she said without expression, taking an extra spoon.
"Japan, we'll be okay here," Italy smiled. "Why don't you relax for a while?"
Japan sighed, knowing resistance was futile, and slowly left the two to their cooking.
There was a moment of silence as the two cooked, Tsuki mainly keeping to herself. Italy kept looking over at her, glancing at her face. She was related to Japan, there was no doubt about it. She shared his soft features and even some of his mannerisms. He could see everything about Japan and his people inside of her, the culture flowing through her veins.
"Italy-san?" she suddenly asked. "O genki desu ka?"
"Hmmm?" he muttered, looking at her. "Oh! Yes, I'm fine! I was just… thinking…"
Tsuki titled her head to the side out of curiosity.
"Just… how long have you Afanasi known each other exactly?" Italy asked.
"For three years," she said. "We met in school when I was only thirteen and she was twelve. Middle school was a brutal place and I was able to give her shelter. But in truth, she was the one who saved my life…"
…
Robert Smith was just a regular, everyday guy who worked with the government. He went to work every morning at 5, came home at 6 in the afternoon, had dinner with his family, tucked his kids in for bed, and slept until the process repeated itself.
He was in charge of over-seeing, and more importantly protecting, secret government files. Files that were on different people that didn't exist to the rest of the world. He was the only person who was allowed to handle such things and he guarded them with his life.
One night, Robert Smith came home, ready for a nice warm dinner. He was met with an empty house. Grumbling to himself, he removed his shoes and walked to the kitchen, looking around for his wife. Once he entered, strong hands slammed him against the kitchen table.
"Robert Smith, we know who you are and you know what we want," a gruff voice snarled.
"I-I don't know what you're talking about!" he stuttered nervously.
"You know very well what we want…" his assailant said. "The files, Smith. We want them. Now."
"Why should I give them to you?" Smith snapped.
"How do you think we got in here undetected?"
He froze. His family. They had his family.
"Now will you cooperate?"
He bit his lip and sighed.
"Yes… Just don't hurt them…" he sighed. "I'll do anything you say."
…
Middle school for me was a brutal place. I grew up in New York City and attended school there, not knowing that I would meet Nasi-chan during my time there.
I was an outcast at my school. Everyone found me to be strange and foreign, despite the fact that I was born in the same country as them. I was always in touch with the Japanese side of my genes and I wasn't afraid to show it but I was looked down upon for my mannerisms.
So they beat me.
The girls in my class were vicious and unforgiving. They always wanted to better themselves by looking down upon me. They would catch me every once in a while, backing me into a corner and beating me until I bled. Sometimes, the beatings would go even farther than just bleeding; I was hospitalized many times for broken bones.
I thought that it would continue until they either stopped beating me or when I stopped breathing. I never thought anyone would step in.
That was when I met Nasi-chan.
"Hey you jerks! Get off of her!"
"Get out of here, freak!"
"Don't call me a freak, you bitch!"
She fought hard and long, throwing every single girl off of me. They finally retreated; yelling that'd there would be hell to pay. They were cowards and of course, did nothing. She walked over to my broken body, her uniform tattered and her face bruised. She looked better than I did, I'm sure.
"Hey, you okay?" she asked with a weak smile.
I nodded slightly, starting to feel an ache running through my body.
"Where do you live?" she asked me. "I'll take you home."
"102 Third street," I muttered. "Third floor, room 12."
She hoisted me onto her back and we started off. I was surprised that she was only twelve, with her build and such.
"So, what's your name?" she asked me on the way home.
"Tsuki Meiyo…" I mumbled.
"Afanasi Zaria," she smiled, turning her head towards me.
And that was the start of a wonderful friendship.
…
Italy watched Tsuki from his spot at the table. That girl had endured so much… she probably never had told her father. He hadn't known how to react when she finished her story. He didn't know whether to comfort her or to remain silent.
She kept to herself for the rest of dinner, occasionally looking up at others when she felt it was needed but otherwise, she looked down at her lap.
There was suddenly a knock at the door and they all looked in the general direction of the sound.
"I'll get it," Germany said as his dogs started to bark at the intruder.
He opened the door, glancing up tiredly at the person. "Yes?"
"Guten tag," a voice chirped.
Germany's blue eyes shot up at the speaker, studying them intently.
Tall and wiry built with fair skin, short brown hair and greenish eyes. A smile lit up her face and she had a bunch of bags lined up behind her.
"My name is Kiernyn Bär," she chirped. "And I'm your daughter!"
And that was when Ludwig, the strong country of Germany, passed out on his own clean floor.
Kiernyn stepped in and looked at the people seated at the table.
"Did I say something wrong…?"
...
melonkitty: Well, that started on an extrememly serious note and wound down into a rather comedic end, don't you think?
WhiteCrow: That was the point, silly. D And now, we get to play around with Germany having a daughter.
melonkitty: ...You made him faint. That was surprising, I didn't expect that...
WhiteCrow: Neither did he obviously.
melonkitty: Touche.
