All righty, folks. For some reason, this will not let me post the Author's Note at the bottom of the chapter like usual. Weird. Anyhow, here is another chapter! We really hope you enjoy this chapter. We know we do, but that's because we're biased. So, we're going to go ahead and put the translations up here. Review and favorite, please and thank you! And once again, we hope you enjoy!

Translations:

German

Alles, was Sie wissen müssen, ist , dass ich hier bin, um deine Mutter zu ficken. Arschloch - All you need to know is that I'm here to fuck your mother. Asshole.

Einfach keine- Just no.

Italian

bella donna- beautiful woman

The PUNCH Line

Maura's POV

The next morning, I find myself rudely awoken to the sound of someone banging what I presume are fists against the bedroom door. See, I'm used to this kind of wake-up call from my dearest aunt, so I yell sleepily into my pillow for her to leave me the fuck alone. I have to deal with her shit when I'm awake, so when she starts on me at my weakest moments, the claws come out. Or at least they do now, having finally grown a backbone. The banging stops and I hear the door open.

"Damn you, haven't you taken enough?" I spit out as I sit up and prepare myself for the oncoming…argument, when I pause and come back to myself. Romano is standing in the middle of the room, a bundle of fresh clothes in his arms, studying me with a concerned expression. There's understanding in his eyes with discovering me at my most vulnerable, and I can't think of anything flippant to utter to ease the sudden tension. Unconsciously I attempt to smooth what I already know is an unsightly bedhead.

He casts his eyes downward and sets the clothes on the dresser against the wall, looking about as awkward as I'm feeling at this very moment. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if he clasped his hands and started whistling. Hell, I'm tempted myself, but it didn't feel right for the time being.

"So…you brought me some clean clothes," I venture slowly, all the while mentally making sure that I had on pants this time.

"So I did," he replies in much the same tone. I swear I see him shuffle his feet. "I, uh, wanted to make sure you were dressed appropriately for the world meeting today."

"Thaaaaaanks," I tell him sarcastically, and suddenly the tension is broken. I see the smallest of smiles flit across his face before he settles into what I have dubbed the "Goddamnit, Maura" scowl.

"Yeah, well. We can't have you looking homeless, now can we? Once word gets out that you have been staying with us, people will talk."

"You know, Romano, I never pegged you for the type who would even give a shit about that."

He considers this and shrugs. "I suppose I don't, but I would rather avoid the hassle, anyway." He opens his mouth to say something else, appears to decide against it, and turns around. "Go and prepare yourself, Weirdo. We leave in thirty minutes," he says imperiously before heading out of the room. I stick out my tongue and make faces to his retreating back before I push myself off of the bed.

I gather the clothes together and exit the room behind him. Yesterday, I had discovered that there was a bathroom just down the hallway, so I make quick work of a shower before I dry off and don the clothes that were provided for me. Once again, I'm sans underwear, but I'm thankfully getting used to the feeling. The shirt is another button-down, red this time, and the fit is much the same. The color does help my complexion a little, thankfully. He left me with another pair of black shorts, sadly, but they're presentable. My shoes are my own.

Looking at my reflection, I frown. I look very…boyish. Well, aside from long brown hair and the boobs. I sigh, comb my hair, brush my teeth, and cheer myself up with the fact that maybe I'll hear some news about Sarah this morning.

World Meeting

I don't even know what to do with myself right now. I've never seen so many nations gathered together in the show, much less the crowd that's present now. I'm not known for being introverted, but even I feel my throat tighten a little in panic. What if they aren't nearly as accepting as Spain and Romano (well, accepting for him) are? The worry must have shown on my face because Spain turns to me and gives me a reassuring smile. "Relax, Preciosa. Everything is going to be fine." Romano appears not to have noticed, or maybe he just doesn't care. I take a deep, calming breath, and nod to Spain. "That's the spirit," he tells me, and I chuckle because I'm reminded of yesterday's exchange. Despite everything that's happen, I think I found a really good friend in him.

"So where is the actual meeting being held?" I ask him, studying the various countries now that my nerves had eased a little. I swear I can pick out people like Turkey, Finland (one of the Nordic five), and is that…Belgium? It's safe to assume so, as she's standing with a man who is obviously Netherlands, her brother. Even safer, as her head turns in our direction. Her eyes pass briefly over me, curiosity evident, and then they light up when they land on Spain and Romano. I'm suddenly and painfully reminded of the portion of the show where Romano had a crush on her. Oh, great. I feel my body slump a little.

Oh, God, she's walking over here. "Spain! Romano! It is so nice to see you!" She pulls them both into a hug. They reply in kind and everyone lets go. Belgium turns her focus solely to me. "And who is your new friend?" she asks brightly, her eyes warm. Dammit, I want to hate her for her history (ha, ha) with Romano, but she seems so nice that I don't have the heart. I go ahead and get the introduction out of the way. "My name's Maura. It's nice to meet you," I tell her, sticking out my hand. She takes it, shakes it firmly, and releases it.

"A pleasure, Maura. I'm Belgium!" Dear God, she's adorable. She's a couple of inches shorter than me, her hair fluffy and blonde, eyes a forest green. She's wearing a hunter-green business suit, and I frown at my casual attire. Come to think of it, everyone here is dressed rather formally. Except me. I had noted this with Spain and Romano before we had left for the meeting, but I thought it was just Romano being Italian. He looked fantastic, too, to the point where I was tempted to demand that he wore nothing but suits for the rest of eternity. But I obviously don't have the authority. Right, authority. Countries. Topic.

Belgium seems to sense my distress, but she doesn't draw attention to it. I'm thankful for that. I realize that Spain never answered my question, and I go to ask him, but something stops me. While Belgium is walking away, I notice that his expression is a little bit too tender to be described as "familial." In fact, a conservative soul might term it "outright longing." I grin to myself. Who knew that Spain was crushing so hard on Belgium? Then another thought hits me: is Romano aware of this? I start to take his sleeve to get his attention and grill him about it, but I'm cut off by a-

"Veeeeeeeeee~ Romano!" a voice shouts excitedly from across the lobby. The three of us turn our heads and behold Italy, our host, as he advances toward us at a remarkable pace. I blink a couple of times. I'm not sure how Italy manages the squinty-eyed expression while appearing entirely normal, but you have to give the guy credit. I raise my hand half-heartedly in greeting, but it goes unnoticed as Italy appears to only have eyes for his brother. The flying leap Italy makes towards Romano is easily side-stepped, and the younger brother goes skidding.

Romano's expression is one of disgruntlement that rivals even the ones directed toward me. I'm both impressed and intrigued. We direct our attention to Italy, who picks himself up with good humor and brushes the dirt off of his dark blue slacks. Romano is the first to speak.

"What do you want, Brother?" he asks in annoyance. Italy's expression, blank at first, shifts to a beaming smile.

"Why, Romano! I'm just so excited to see you! It's been so-a long since I've seen that cute face of-oh, hello," he interrupts himself as he finally registers my presence. "What do we have here? Oh, you're so bella!" He rushes over and takes my hands. "What is your name, my beautiful flower?"

I look with alarm to Spain and Romano as if to ask, is this guy for real, but Spain is trying, unsuccessfully, to contain his laughter and Romano looks like he's contemplating murder. Deeming them useless, I paste on my most winning smile and answer with, "Maura. And you must be Italy."

"Ve~ you know who I am? This makes me so happy! Come, Maura. We must walk together and speak of all our hopes and dreams and be the best of friends!" He starts dragging me along with a surprisingly solid grip, and the revelation hits me that next to his brother, Italy may seem effeminate, but he, too, is a full-grown man. I'm racking my brain, searching for a polite excuse to extract myself from his grasp, when Romano "saves" me.

"Hey! Let go of Mau-let go of the...the bitch!" he orders furiously to Italy, which causes the younger brother to stop in his tracks.

I nearly collide with Italy's back. He turns around with an expression of utter disbelief for his brother. "Romano! You would say such things to such a sweet donna? You would insult her, when you are famed for your treatment of women? Why?" he demands, putting an arm defensively around my shoulders. I never imagined that I would have a champion in Italy, but it's a warming feeling. I don't think anyone has ever taken up for me. Probably because no one ever thought that I needed someone to be on my side. Hell, I didn't even know how much I needed it up until this very moment. Italy's observation of Romano's behavior brings home the fact that while I am a woman, a gender supposedly revered by Romano, he treats me like a leper. My stomach sinks.

"You don't know her like I do," Romano mutters, and he walks away. I can sense multiple meanings to those words, but damn if I know what they are.

Spain shoots me an apologetic look, appearing uncomfortable for the first time since I've met him. "I'll talk to him," he promises me gently, and then he heads after Romano and into the auditorium.

Now it's just me and Italy left, his arm still around my shoulders. He removes it and takes my hand in an almost brotherly fashion and starts leading me towards the room. "I am sorry on behalf of my brother," he begins as we walk. "I don't know why he's so angry like this towards a woman."

I give him a small smile and a light laugh, trying to appear carefree. "Oh, that would be me. I guess you could say that when we interact, similar tendencies surface." Italy gives an "oooh" of understanding and chuckles.

"It sounds like he has met his match then." The child-like quality of his voice is gone, and it's a startling contrast. He sounds almost…wise. I wonder how many people had the privilege of experiencing him like this. He pauses for a moment before the double doors of the auditorium to give my hand a pat. "But deep down, he is good, ve? You will see!" The bright tone reappears. "Also, we need to take you shopping for clothes. We can't have such a bella donna running around in men's clothes. It would be almost as bad as a nightgown, I suppose you could say." This last part is accompanied by a glint of mischief in his brown eyes. Like mine.

Which widen at his words. No, he couldn't possibly mean-? "Sarah?" I demand, almost desperately, my fingers now clutching his. Italy beams and gently pries his hand from mine. "I thought you two might know each other. She's currently in the conference r-" I don't give him time to finish as I fling open the doors and begin looking around for my best friend. Germany or Russia, I chant to myself. Germany or Russia. My eyes scan the room frantically for a violet scarf, since that would be the easiest marker. After several seconds, I spot the familiar article towards the front of the auditorium, seated behind a podium with a short girl wearing a sunflower-printed dress in a chair next to him. Huh? Sarah? In a dress? Weirder things have happened, I remind myself, and sprint down the aisle. I ignore the sidelong glances and outright stares as I attempt to reach her. I'm only about twenty feet from Sarah when I collide into something extremely solid.

"Halt," a deep and thickly-accented voice orders me. I freeze for a second as the familiar sound of a German accent washes over me. I glance up into a pair of hard blue eyes, and I'm feeling slightly sentimental at the moment. This is someone who literally represents my homeland, my birthright, my heritage. I'd have to worry about it later, unfortunately, as he's the only thing standing in between me and the only person that I had ever felt close to.

"Who are you, and what is your reason for being here?" Germany interrogates, his arm folded in front of him in what is meant to be an intimidating pose. Normally, it might have worked, but as Romano pointed out, normality isn't exactly my strong point.

"Alles, was Sie wissen müssen, ist , dass ich hier bin, um deine Mutter zu ficken. Arschloch." I raise my eyebrow in challenge. The whole room grows silent, and Germany looks completely dumbfounded. I would say this is because I spoke to him in his native tongue, but I think it's more of that fact that I essentially called him an asshole and told him I was going to bang his mom.

It's silent for a few long seconds, and then people around me break into applause. Germany's facial muscles are twitching at this point, but I don't know if it's humor or an aneurism. I don't care if it's one or the other, honestly, as the room has quieted down, and I hear a tentative, "Maura?"

"Sarah?" I call out, trying my best to reach her. I crane my head around Germany, who's being a pain in the ass, and I see Sarah get up from her seat. I try to circle around the fellow German, but he stretches out an arm, nearly clotheslining me. I stagger back and begin fuming.

"Listen here, Pencil Dick. There's only one thing I'm concerned about, and it certainly isn't you, so get the fuck out of my way," I continue quietly in German. I think the whole of the auditorium is paying rapt attention to our exchange now.

He doesn't reply to this, and I almost wish he would. Instead, he says, "If you are here with dishonorable intentions toward Sarah, I cannot allow you to go any furth-"

"Who the fuck do you think taught her German, you pea brain?" I demand, amazed at the denseness of the man in front of me. Apparently this is the one option he hadn't considered, so intent was he to make sure Sarah was safe. Normally, I would applaud him for his dedication in keeping her safe, but now it's merely infuriating. There's a moment of clarity, and his expression softens a degree, the barest trace of contrition appearing on his face. There would probably be more acceptance evident, had I not so publicly and soundly insulted him. Maybe later his humor will return.

"She mentioned you," he informs me, and steps out of my path.

Sarah is now heading my way, stark relief stamped across her features. I begin dashing towards her, and we're not even five feet apart when we both take a synchronized nose dive. I skid across several inches of navy carpet, suddenly thankful for the Romano's button down that saved my elbows from rug burn. I look up, and I see that Sarah rolls to the side, her dress bunched around her legs, and we're still for a few seconds. There's a collective intake of breath, the silence enough that a pin drop would be deafening. We scramble those last few feet and then we're in each other's arms, hugging each other so tightly that we're probably about to do some serious rib-cracking. The sheer weight that's been lifted off my shoulders makes me not care. Suddenly, the whole room erupts into cheers.

"I was so worried about you," I utter into her hair. She's trembling, but still she emphatically nods her head.

"I would have gone looking for you," she explains, "but I know you would have skinned me alive had I gone out on my own." She's right, of course. Hell, I'm the ballsier of the two of us, and even I had the good sense to keep to a place that was somewhat familiar. I finally release her and bring myself to a stand, extending an arm to help pull her to her feet. She accepts, and I hoist her up. An identical grin breaks on both our faces.

"Maura," Sarah whispers. "We're in fucking Hetalia."

"I know," I exclaim (albeit quietly). We're about to engage in a mutual happy dance when someone clears their throat.

"Pardon me, but it seems that some of us haven't made your acquaintance yet." I turn and see England walking forward, a smile of welcome on his face. He offers his hand. "I'm-"

"England," I supply with a grin. This causes his face to blank. "It's not as if everyone isn't going to find out soon enough. Spain, Romano, and I suspect Russia are probably aware of the situation already. I'm Maura."

"Spain and Romano? So that's where you've kept hidden," he concludes, taking my announcement in stride. "Sarah fell through a ceiling. Onto Russia's lap."

I turn and study her. "Not bad," I grant. "Not bad at all. But I can probably do one just as good."

"Oh?" he asks, intrigued.

I lean in conspiratorially and say, "I landed in Romano's bed. The look on his face was priceless."

England's eyes widen, and he begins laughing rather loudly. "Brilliant!" he declares. "Bloody brilliant."

"By the way, thanks for Harry Potter. I owe you one."

"Five points to Gryffindor!" he tells me before walking away.

Apparently England's laughter prompts others to follow, and soon I'm bombarded by introductions.

America jostles everyone to be first in line. Typical American, I think to myself. While I may have lived in the United States for six years, the vast majority of my life was spent in Germany with my father. I don't identify as an American citizen, as the only thing that ever truly tied me to the country was my friendship with Sarah. Otherwise, there's nothing for me there.

America apparently doesn't share the same sentiment, as he runs towards me with his arms outstretched. "If you're close to Sarah, you must be an American! Ye-yeah, 'MURICA! We're the best!"

He goes to put his arms around me. I place a hand in front of me, palm outward, and shake my head. "Einfach keine. I'm Maura, Sarah's German friend." I deliberately thicken my accent. He stops a hair's breadth from me, his expression downtrodden. Denied.

Japan is next, and his greeting is brief, but polite. I respond in kind.

I spot Canada, who's leaning against a podium with a thoughtful expression. His face registers surprise when I meander towards him, though he gives me a shy smile anyway. I skip the introduction and go straight for an embrace. He jolts a little, probably startled by the familiarity, but he returns the hug with a light squeeze. "I'm glad you can see me," he murmurs and pulls away. The hesitant smile on his face grows wider. "Sarah is able to, as well."

"Of course I can," I assure him. "Where we come from, Canada is one of the few countries with their priorities straight." I punch him lightly on the arm. "You're doing a great job. Really."

"And your name?" he requests.

"Maura. It's so nice to finally meet y-"

"Hey! Maura!" America calls out. I whip my head around. "Who are you talking to?"

I sigh in frustration and glance at Canada. He shakes his head minutely, as if to say, I really don't want to deal with their shit right now. I nod almost imperceptibly and give him a parting wave. There's one more person that I want to take stock of before I'm satisfied with the question of Sarah's well-being, so I attempt to make a beeline straight towards the individual. I'm intercepted by the one person who I was sincerely hoping to avoid.

"Ohonhonhon!"

Well, fuck. I don't even bother to smother the groan as I halt in my tracks. Closing my eyes briefly, I mentally pray for the fortitude to maintain a somewhat civil interaction with France. I'm a realist, however. I suppose you could even say I straddle the line into pessimism, but the attempt must be made, right?

"Hullo, France," I greet warily, crossing my arms in a pose quite similar to Germany's. Hey, I never said it was completely ineffective.

This seems to be the wrong thing to do, however, as it only serves to divert his attention to my rack. "Ooh la la! Your breasts are just as magnifique as Sarah's. Oh, but you are wearing a bra," he adds tragically. Sadly, this doesn't last. "No matter, it frames those beauties to perfection!" I'm uncertain whether he even realizes he's ogling an actual person anymore, and at the mention of Sarah and how he might have treated her similarly, I feel my face begin to heat with rage.

"Ahem," I begin evenly, though it has no effect.

"-and such long, lustrous, curly hair. I would love to have it trail over my body. And those hips! Why, I-"

"'Scuse me-" I try cutting in again.

"-would continue long into the night until our needs have both been doubly satisfied. Afterward, we would-"

"France?-" I ask sweetly, silently begging for deliverance.

"-the pudding could be eaten or used later. I, myself, prefer whipped cream on a woman's p-"

WHAM.

I don't even recall it happening, but the next thing I see is France clutching his nose, blood pouring from his nostrils. My fist is still positioned in front of his face, so I withdraw it and keep it clenched at my side. Nobody's moving a muscle, and looking around, I note varying expressions of admiration, shock, and disapproval. I revert my attention back to France, whose countenance is lewd no longer. Instead, there's outright terror in his eyes. Good. He drops his gaze to hands he pulls away from his face. There are trickles of blood between his fingers, and when he registers what has transpired, his eyes roll back in his head. He drops.

I scan the room until I lock eyes with Russia, who's standing next to Sarah once more. Mine narrow as I send a silent message: we're going to have a discussion, you and I. He holds up his hand in a gesture of surrender. He probably thinks it wise to placate the crazy woman.

I cross over to France's unconscious person, sprawled haphazardly on the carpet. Leaning over, I place my hands on my knees to study him.

"I'm Maura, by the way," I tell him cheerfully. With the formal introduction over with, I begin looking for a place to sit. "Thought you might like to know."