DISCLAIMER: I do not have any rights to the song "Vieni a Ballare in Puglia." However, it can be found on YouTube, so I encourage you to give it a listen, as it might help with the overall experience of this chapter. Enjoy!


Towels, Tomatoes, and Truths

Maura's POV

"I delfini vanno a ballare sulle spiagge. Gli elefanti vanno a ballare in cimiteri sconosciuti. Le nuvole vanno a ballare all'orizzonte. I treni vanno a ballare nei musei a pagamento. E tu dove vai a ballare?"

I wake up to the sound of someone singing. The voice is beautiful, but the identity of the owner is a mystery. The voice itself is obviously male, since the tone is deep and throaty and extremely pleasant to the ears. Pondering this, I sit up in the bed and try to rub the sleep out of my eyes. I had the most wonderful dream last night involving Romano and some rather creative acts in the bedroom. In your dreams, Maura, my internal dialogue tells me in a condescending manner. I snort. Well, that was kind of the point, I reply sarcastically. Squabbling amongst myself again? Man, I need therapy. Cue eye roll. Yep, the voice agrees. For once. I start chuckling to myself when the song starts up again.

"Vieni a ballare in Puglia Puglia Puglia, tremulo come una foglia foglia foglia. Tieni la testa alta quando passi vicino alla gru, perche puo capitare che si stacchi e venga giu."

The voice sounds like it's coming from right outside of the bedroom window, so I decide to get out of bed and investigate. I open the window to search for the source, and at first I don't see anything except for a tomato garden, but looking a little longer, I spy someone walking up and down the rows of tomatoes. I assume it's Spain at first, since I can't picture Romano being up this early, but when the person comes into view, I'm proven wrong. I'm a bit shocked to see Romano outside, covered in dirt and a smile as he sings, "Hey turista so che tu resti in questo posto italico. Attento! Tu passi il valico ma questa terra ti manda al manicomio. Mare Adriatico e Ionio, vuoi respirare lo iodio ma qui nel golfo c'e puzza di zolfo, che sta arrivando il demonio."

The longer I listen to the words, the more I recognize the song. He's singing a tune that describes one of the cities located in the Southern Italy. That's right, bitches. I know Italian, too! Well, not fluently like my English and German. Really just snippets and phrases, but it's enough to understand the meaning of the lyrics. I smile to myself and continue to listen. His music makes me want to join in just to see the look on his face when I start singing in Italian. With that thought in mind, I hurry outside.

When I open the door that leads out into the garden, I'm blinded by the sunlight. Positioning my hand above my face helps lessen the glare, thankfully. Once my eyes adjust, I head toward the garden in search of my singing Italian. Not yours, Idiot. I find him a few rows down, bent over and considering one of the tomatoes. His untucked shirt is white with smudges of dirt scattered liberally across it, so I suppose it couldn't be considered "white" any longer. The khaki shorts he wears are in a similar state. What has he been doing to get so dirty? Roll around on the ground? He is also wearing a straw hat to keep the sun from his eyes. Why didn't I think of that earlier? Because you don't have anything but the clothes on your back, Dumbass. Oh, right. There is that. Once he's inspected the tomato, he stands upright and places it in the basket near his feet, which I've just noticed are bare. He picks up the basket and makes his way toward another tomato plant, all while never glancing in my direction. He doesn't know I'm here, it seems.

"Abbronzatura da paura con la diossina dell'ILVA. Qua ti vengono pois piu rossi di Milva e dopo assomigli alla Pimpa. Nella zona spacciano la moria piu buona. C'e chi ha fumato veleni all'ENI, chi ha lavorato ed e andato in coma."

God, he sounds so incredibly attractive singing in his native tongue. Oh, what I would give to have him whisper naughty things into my ear in Italian. They don't even have to be naughty. He could utter things like "toothbrush" and "Rick Astley" and I would still melt into a puddle of 'Please, Sir, may I have some more?' Never gonna give you up, never gonna let...While I'm envisioning one such scene, Romano stops and picks another tomato, still oblivious to the fact that I'm practically stalking him. Clearing the thoughts from my mind, I creep my way slowly toward him. Once I'm behind him, and I see that he is about to open his mouth to start singing again, I cut him off.

"Fuma persino il Gargano, con tutte quelle foreste accese. Turista tu balli e canti, io conto i defunti di questo paese," I sing loudly into his ear, startling him.

"Eekk!" He gives a very manly (not) shriek and drops the tomato that he had been holding. It splatters all over his feet. I see him glance downward and then tense when he sees the ruined tomato. He spins around and gives me quite the menacing glare. Well, doesn't he look pissed?

"Look at what you made me do!" he exclaims in frustration as he points at feet decorated with bits of tomato. "That was a perfectly good tomato and you made me drop it!"

"Whoa, I'm sorry." I raise my hands in a gesture of surrender. "It's not my fault that you're clumsy."

"I am not clumsy!" he yells at me. He opens his mouth as if to say something else, but then he quickly closes it. An expression that looks very much like panic crosses his face, and he colors the shade of his tomatoes.

I tilt my head curiously, wondering why he suddenly went red in the face. "Everything all right?" I ask him, a tad concerned. I reach out a hand to touch his shoulder.

"WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU IN YOUR UNDERWEAR?!" he shouts as he jumps back, as if I had leprosy. He turns around in embarrassment.

I blink a couple of times before I look down at myself. Well, then. It seems that I had forgotten about taking off my clothes last night for bed. I must have been so excited to sing with Romano that dressing never crossed my mind. Usually, I sleep naked, but since I was in a stranger's home, I thought I'd at least sleep with my bra and panties on. And at least they're boy shorts this time. I feel my cheeks heat a little, but I'm still thankful that all the important bits were covered. What's done is done, so I can't really be bothered by this turn of events, but I know it's bothering him as his back is still turned to me.

"I'm not going to put on dirty clothes," I tell him finally. "So, unless you have a solution for that, you're going to have deal with me like this."

Without looking at me, he says, "Fine! I'll handle it. Just go back into your room so I don't have to look at you like that."

Dick. Could he sound any more insulting? "Aw, what's the matter? Never seen a woman half-naked before?" I say teasingly in revenge. Not waiting for a reply, I walk back inside the house and make my way back to my room.

Once inside, I wait patiently for someone to bring me a new pair of clothes. After about 30 minutes, there is a knock on the door. When I answer it and no one's on the other side, I look down at my feet and see that someone had left a pair of clothes for me to wear. Grinning to myself, I pick up the clothing and exit the room in search for a bathroom. When I find one, I decide that I might as well take a shower while I'm in there.

After I'm clean and dry, I hook on my bra. There is not a chance in Hell that I'm putting on dirty underwear, so I settle for going commando. The pile of clothing that I was given consists of a button-up green shirt that goes to mid-thigh and a pair of black shorts that drops to the top of my knees. The shirt strains a bit across the chest and the shorts are tight-fitting (damn guys and their narrow hips), but they'll do. Looking at my reflection, I groan at my appearance. Would that Spain turned out to be metrosexual and had some eyeliner or mascara lying around. Grimacing, I rummage around the bathroom looking for a brush. Once I find one, I attempt to try to get my hair under control.

I give myself a final once-over, an expression of resignation on my face, and leave the bathroom. My stomach starts growling, begging for food, so I go ahead into the kitchen. Maybe if I'm lucky, I can get Romano or Spain to make me breakfast. I can't do much in the way of cooking.

I enter the kitchen and I see Spain at the stove, presumably cooking for himself. I clear my throat so he'll notice me. He turns his head and gives me a smile.

"Hola, Preciosa!" he greets me happily. Spain then turns his attention back to the stove. I see he is making some eggs, and boy, do they smell delicious. "Would you like something to eat this morning?"

"Antonio, you are a god." Or a country. Close enough. I seat myself at the kitchen table and try to quell my growling stomach with a bright green apple that was sitting in a bowl, with various other fruit, in the middle of the table.

"So, how did you sleep last night?" he asks casually.

I shrug my shoulders, trying to work through a particularly big mouthful of fruit. "Ar shlerpt firne."

"I hope the clothes are comfortable. I would have given you a pair of my old clothes, but Romano insisted that you use some of his." I can hear the smugness in his voice. Even though his back is to me, I know he probably has a huge grin on his face, the idiot .

I raise an eyebrow at the statement. Romano insisted I wear his clothes? Strange. I inspect the clothes I'm wearing once more and try to imagine him wearing these clothes. The image is a nice one. A smile breaks over my face and I indiscreetly take a sniff at the shirt. It smells like rosemary and tomatoes; definitely Romano. I'm still breathing in the scent and contemplating whether or not to chew on it (What? I'm fucking hungry.) when I suddenly hear someone clearing their throat. My eyes shift to Spain, who's staring at me with an amused expression on his face. I feel my face start to warm for the second time today, and so I shift my attention to what's being held in his hands. It's a plate of food that consists of scrambled eggs, toast, a muffin, and...churros?

"Why are you serving churros for breakfast?" I ask out of confusion. Not that I care either way. I'm about to destroy that plate and everything it holds dear. Still.

"You can eat churros anytime of time of the day," he explains. "Besides, I had already made me some, and I thought that maybe you would like some as well." He then proceeds to take a seat across from me.

I begin to inhale my food as we sit in silence. Spain says nothing, and honestly, it becomes a bit awkward. I have an excuse not to speak, but Spain just keeps looking at me. My meal's almost finished when I decide to go ahead and break the silence. "So," I begin.

"Why were you sniffing Romano's clothes?"

I choke on a bit of egg at the reminder of what I had done a few moments before. I know I shouldn't be so embarrassed, but I can't help it. It's not every day you get caught sniffing Southern Italy's clothes, especially if the person who catches you is his closest friend. "Warum musste er zu bemerken?" I wheeze out as quietly as possible, thumping my chest with my fist in an effort to clear my throat.

"Well, it was hard not to when you're so obvious about it," he supplies helpfully as he grins at me.

I stare at him with my mouth hanging open. A piece of egg falls out, unnoticed. He understood what I just said? That can't be, right? Yesterday, when I was spewing sexual innuendos towards Romano, he looked as if he had no idea what was going on!

"You're probably wondering why I am able to understand you. Truth is, a close friend of mine speaks German, so I took it upon myself to learn the language," he informs me with a shrug of his shoulders. "I did not say anything about it yesterday because I thought it very amusing how you wanted to see Romano's 'Italian sausage' and have 'procreation' with him, or however you so creatively put it yesterday." He ends the statement with a laugh.

I can't help but to laugh with him. It was pretty amusing to talk dirty to an unwitting Romano. I laugh even harder at the realization that Spain actually understood what was going on. It's just too damn funny, and I know I would have acted in ignorance as well, were I in a similar position. Once I calm down, I meet his eyes with a smirk. "You're a lot smarter than you look."

"So I've been told," he says with a light chuckle. "You still haven't answered the question, though."

I sigh. Man, I don't even know to explain it myself. I mean, what can I say? I'm acting like a school girl who has a crush on some dumb boy...which is pretty much the situation at hand, apart from being a school girl. Unless that would work...? Focus. Besides, I'm fairly certain he detests me. This upsets me more than it should. Why should I care if he likes me or not?

"It's difficult not to smell them when I'm wearing them. It also doesn't hurt that, maybe, they smell kind of nice." I avert my eyes when I finish that sentence.

"It's nothing to be embarrassed about, you know," he assures me. "If it makes you feel any better or less awkward, you can talk to me about him. If you want, that is."

"What makes you think I want to talk about him?"

"Because I get the feeling that he has been on your thoughts since you first met him. I also get the feeling that maybe you have met him before, seeing as you handled him so well. Most people are a bit shocked at his attitude when they first meet him, but you handled him as if you already knew how he was." His playfulness is gone and replaced with a serious expression. "Now, if that were the case, why would you lie about not knowing him and knowing where you are?"

Spain is now staring at me with an intently. In the show, he was always smiling and happy. I've never seen him so serious, and it makes me think of the fan fictions Sarah told me about involving Spain and his Spanish Conquistador mode. Now, I don't know too much about Spanish history, but I do know that the conquistadors were ruthless soldiers that engineered the conquest of parts of the New World and brought about the end of the Aztec and Inca Empires. Seeing him like this causes a shiver of fear to run down my spine. I know he's expecting me to tell him the truth, but honestly, I'm not sure how to explain my circumstances to him without sounding like I'm bat-shit crazy.

"I like you, Maura. You seem like a good person, and you appear to have a wonderful personality. It seems like you may even care a bit about Lovino. However, I will not tolerate liars and those who might cause potential harm to those I care about. So, I am going to give you the chance to explain yourself before I start assuming the worst." With that said, he leans back in his chair and crosses his arms across his chest, waiting for me to speak.

The rest of my food forgotten, I set my fork beside my plate and clasp my hands in my lap. I remember telling them yesterday that I wasn't sure how I got here, but they didn't seem to believe me, or maybe it was more Romano who didn't believe me. Spain, it seems, is more level-headed then Romano, so maybe he'll be able to understand. He might even know of a way from me to be able to find Sarah, smart as I know him to be now. With her in mind, I decide to take a gamble and trust his judgement.

"Okay, give me the benefit of the doubt first, and let me finish explaining before asking questions." I take a calming breath.

He looks at me a moment before he nods his head in agreement. With that, I start telling him, from the beginning, about the day of Sarah's birthday. I leave nothing out, causing him to chuckle when I mention the broken window. When it comes to the part about Sarah's gift, however, I pause. I'm not sure if I should tell him, but I know I wouldn't be able to keep it a secret much longer, anyway, so I make up my mind to simply tell him the truth.

When I tell him about Hetalia, his eyes go wide in shock, but he says nothing. He's keeping to the agreement, it seems. The story took about an hour and a half, in all, to explain, but it felt longer, especially when Spain didn't say anything for at least an hour afterward. The silence was stifling, and it made me wonder where the hell Romano was this whole time. Not once did he come into the kitchen.

As if summoned, Romano appears in the kitchen, his clothes dirt-free. Instead, he's wearing a striped black and white shirt with a pair of faded black jeans. The clothing molded to his body perfectly and the fit of his jeans are exceptional. There's a fluffy white towel around his shoulders and his hair looks damp. He must have just gotten out of the shower. With the image of a naked Romano in my head, I temporarily forget about the situation I'm currently in.

I'm brought out of my daydream when Romano directs his attention to me. "Thank God you're dressed. We don't need another Feliciano running around here," he says, disgruntled.

He takes a seat next to mine and proceeds to finish off my plate from breakfast. I'm not even bothered by this, considering that the conversation stole the rest of my appetite. We sit in silence for another half-hour before Romano breaks it.

"Okay! What the hell is wrong with you two!?" he demands.

Both Spain and I jump in our seats, startled out of our thoughts. We glance at each other uneasily before we direct our attention to Romano. Spain speaks first. "Romano."

Romano visibly tenses when he hears Spain call him by his country's name. He opens his mouth, looking like he's going to start lecturing him, when I interrupt him.

"It's okay, Romano. I know who you guys are, so there is no point in trying to hide it any longer."

"How in the hell do you know?" He casts a glare at Spain. "Did you tell her, Idiota!?

Spain shakes his head. "No, I did not tell her, Amigo. She already knew."

"Well, then how the fuck does she know?!"

Oh, goody. Looks like I'm going to have to explain myself once again. I shift my body in my chair to where I'm able to face Romano. Suspicion is evident on his face, but his eyes hold a sense of fear and confusion. I guess I would be apprehensive, too, if someone I hadn't met previously already knew my biggest secret. I begin recounting the story to him, and at first, he's quiet, but the deeper I go into the story, the more he starts to interrupt with questions and statements like, "You broke into her house?!"; "What is an anime?"; "We're a fucking TV show?!"; and "So, it's Japan's fault." Once I finish this strange and bizarre tale, it's silent...again. Really, all this silence is going to drive me insane. Well, even more insane, I suppose. It seems all we do is strike up conversations proceeded by bouts of silence right afterwards; really annoying, if you ask me.

"So, Spain." I turn back to him. He stares at me when I call him by his country's name. "Are you going to kill me now that you know the truth and the fact that I may know too much?" I ask nervously. I really hope he doesn't. I would rather like to remain with the living.

He looks at me for several more seconds before that familiar smile is back on his face. "No, I believe you are good. You do not come off as the kind of person to just blurt out people's secrets. Besides, I was never going to hurt you."

"Then why were you threatening me?!" I exclaim furiously. Still, the lead weight in my stomach begins to dissipate.

He laughs at my distress. "I only did it to mess you. Also, it helped speed things along."

I sigh in agitation and rub my face with my hands. I can agree that it indeed help speed things along, but at the same time, I'm frustrated that he thought it necessary to scare the wits out of me to do so. Whatever, I'm not going to brood on it any longer.

"So, we're a TV show. Did you watch it often?" Spain inquires. It's evident that he's curious to know, and from the corner of my eyes, I see Romano staring at me. I can tell he is obviously curious, too.

"Yeah, I did," I answer honestly. "I wasn't as into as my friend Sarah is, but I watched it often enough to be able to know who everyone is and I know a few things about each person. It also helps that your personalities and tendencies stem from my world's history."

"So, what do you know about us?" asks Romano.

I ponder this for a moment before replying. "Well, I know you were raised by Spain when you were younger, and your little brother was raised by Austria and Hungary, along with Holy Rome. You would call Spain 'the boss' or 'jerk-bastard Span,' but I'm pretty sure you still call him a bastard. Spain is a free-loving country, has minimal worries, but can be intimidating and dangerous when provoked. You, Italy Romano, tend to avoid situations where fighting is involved, but I'm pretty sure if you wanted to, you could inflict some serious damage. I mean, you are a descendant of the Great Roman Empire."

After my descriptions, they visibly relax, and both have small smiles on their faces. They seem pleased with what I just told them. Good, I was afraid that maybe they wouldn't like that I knew about them, and honestly, the information was minimal. I don't know much about their personal lives, and I suppose they realize this as well. That must be why they aren't getting upset with me.

"Well, now that we know the truth, you can continue to stay here," Romano decides.

"Really?" I say excitedly.

He snorts and fixes a small glare at me. "Of course, Idiota! This is my house, and if I say you can stay here, then it is final!"

Elation overwhelms me, and I can't help but to jump up to give Romano a bone-crushing hug. I mean, I had hoped that they weren't going to toss me out, but just to hear him say I could stay made me so happy. I feel Romano tense under me, but he doesn't push me away, so I linger in the embrace a few seconds longer. When I pull away from him, I notice that he's looking everywhere but at me, and his face is back to flushing. Awww. I hear Spain laughing at us and I join him. I'm just super stoked right now.

"Okay! Since you are staying with us, you can call us by our country names when we are alone, but out in public, call us by our human names," Spain tells me. "Also, we have a world meeting in a couple of days, and you are going to accompany us. If anyone can help you get home and find your friend, it will probably be England."

I nod my head in agreement. It sounded like a solid plan, and he was right; England might know how to get us home. My excitement grows at the prospect of possibly acquiring some more help in the search for Sarah, as meeting the other players. Maybe she ended up with some of the other countries. I hope Sarah ended up with Germany or Russia. They're her favorite characters. With any luck, she'll be at the world meeting.

I feel the urge come over me to hug Romano again, but I resist. I probably wouldn't be able to get away with doing it a second time. I'm itching to do something, though. Maybe I should mess with him again, just for the sake of it? It's quickly becoming my favorite pastime.

"Hey, Romano," I call out to get his attention.

He turns his head in my direction and raises an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Want to play the game of rape?" I ask with a creepy tone.

His expression of shock is priceless. "What the actual fuck?! No!"

I lean in close to his ear and whisper in my breathiest voice, "Good, that's how it starts." I then boop him on the nose.

"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!" he screams as jumps up and actually runs from the room. Neither I nor Spain notice him leave, though, because we are too busy laughing our asses off. Man, today turned out to be a good day.


Okay! Another chapter is up, and it's a big one! So. News. Dustin, who in the beginning had given me permission to use him in the story, unfortunately, decided he was too uncomfortable with his involvement in this story. So, because of this, I (we, as Maura has graciously agreed to become my editor) have gone back to previous chapters to edit him out of the story. This will affect a few prior details, but not the plot overall. Thanks so much for reading, and we hope you enjoy the story!


Translations:

Italian:

I delfini vanno a ballare sulle spiagge.
Gli elefanti vanno a ballare in cimiteri sconosciuti.
Le nuvole vanno a ballare all'orizzonte.
I treni vanno a ballare nei musei a pagamento.
E tu dove vai a ballare?

The dolphins go dance on the beaches
The elephants go dance in unknown cemeteries
The clouds go dance at the horizon.
The trains go dance in the museums with fee
And you, where do you go dance?

Vieni a ballare in Puglia Puglia Puglia,
tremulo come una foglia foglia foglia.
Tieni la testa alta quando passi vicino alla gru
perche puo capitare che si stacchi e venga giu.

Come and dance in Puglia
I tremble like a leaf, leaf, leaf.
You keep your head up when you pass by the crane
because it may happen for it to detach and fall down

Hey turista so che tu resti in questo posto italico.
Attento! Tu passi il valico ma questa terra ti manda al manicomio.
Mare Adriatico e Ionio, vuoi respirare lo iodio
ma qui nel golfo c'e puzza di zolfo, che sta arrivando il demonio.
Abbronzatura da paura con la diossina dell'ILVA.
Qua ti vengono pois piu rossi di Milva e dopo assomigli alla Pimpa.
Nella zona spacciano la moria piu buona.
C'e chi ha fumato veleni all'ENI,
chi ha lavorato ed e andato in coma.
Fuma persino il Gargano*, con tutte quelle foreste accese.
Turista tu balli e canti, io conto i defunti di questo
paese.

Hey, tourist, I know you stop in this historical place.
Pay attention! You step over the pass but this land sends you to caos.
You want to breathe the iodine in the Adriatic and Ionian Seas
but here in the golf stinks of sulphur, 'cause the devil is about to come.
Scarry tanning because of the dioxin produced by ILVA
Here you get more red dots than Milva has and then you look like Pimpa.
In the area they sell the best death (reffering to the pollution)
You can find there the one who smoked poison at ENI (Italian energy company)
the one who worked and went in a coma.
Even Gargano smokes with all those forests on fire.
Tourist, you dance and sing while I count the dead people of this country.

Spanish:

"Hola, Preciosa!" - Hello, Beautiful!

German:

"Warum musste er zu bemerken?" - Why did he have to notice?