"Please forgive me."

He wanted to believe he could rewind the past. He wanted to believe he could rewind to before all this happened. He wanted to believe he could rewind to change everything… but he couldn't. There was no magic remote. He couldn't change the past. All that was left was the present. In the present, she was standing in front of him.

Her request was a simple one. Forgiveness was so simple at first, but it truly required a brave person, an unselfish person. Someone who could look past their woes and see someone else's was required. Could he be that person to Italy? Only he could give her what she wanted. He could give her what she needed, couldn't he?

He stared at the girl before him; the one he thought was a guy. She didn't look like a man anymore. For one thing, she was wearing an evergreen dress that brought out the red highlights in her rich copper hair. Her curl caught the light and illuminated that face. She'd changed so much over the few days. She was the coldest nation he'd ever seen. Her eyes had one last glimmer of hope, but were otherwise like someone who had died. Her tan skin had paled. The warm smile he'd always looked back on as his source of strength was gone.

He wanted to take her in his arms suddenly, put some warmth back inside her. How could he do this? There was no manual he could find that dealt with apologizing for hurting your friends who lied to you about their gender and made you think you were gay. What could he possibly say that could heal her? He knew it all rested on him. She wanted forgiveness from him. How could he give it to her?

What he really wanted was that this had never happened. He took another look at her. Her spaghetti-strap dress, while modestly hid any cleavage she could possibly have (which was next to none), left her shoulders wide open. Two scars were prominent on her left shoulder. On the shoulder itself, it appears like someone had shot her repeatedly. On her arm, it appeared to be a stab wound. He looked closer. A recent stab wound.

He'd caused both scars.

She was asking for /his/ forgiveness? He should have been asking for hers! What would she say if he asked for hers in return for his? Would she refuse him? All eyes were on him, but he chose to ignore them. He felt Romano's glare digging into his back. He ignored the tomato guy. Italy had to be his main focus. He had to tell her he forgave her. He'd watched her stand alone for so long with the secret; A secret that was for protecting him, for cherishing his memory. Because she thought he was dead.

Or at least, she thought Holy Roman Empire was dead.

He'd been the reason they were standing here now, in both accounts. If he hadn't lost his memory, Prussia wouldn't have informed everyone that he'd died. If Prussia hadn't informed them he'd died, Italy would not have nearly gone insane from despair. If she hadn't felt the despair, she never would have made the pact. If she didn't make the pact, she wouldn't have to lie. If she didn't tell the lie, she wouldn't have to tell the truth. If she hadn't told the truth, he wouldn't have gotten angry at her. If he hadn't gotten angry, he wouldn't have hurt her. If he hadn't hurt her… they wouldn't be here now.

He took a shaky breath. "Italy…" he paused, licking his lips. What could he say? What were the correct words in this situation? He was so afraid to fall, so afraid he'd hurt her again… He had to be brave for her. He couldn't doubt her. He'd tell it to her straight. She deserved that, after waiting for him for a thousand years.

And even if he didn't know it, he'd been waiting for her, too.

Time stood still between them, beauty and the beast. Whose soul was pure enough to be the beauty? Who was truly a 'beast'? He wouldn't let this moment go to waste. He needed to tell her. Everything in their lives had led up to this moment. Every breath she ever breathed had been waiting for this moment, depending on him. She'd always depended on him, even to tie her shoelaces.

Speaking of that, she was wearing heels. She was a centimeter taller now.

"I… I…" he sighed. "Have been waiting for you… so I could tell you… I… I forgive you… and… I wanted… you to know… that…" he stammered. "Please forgive me, too." His hand unconsciously traced the scar on her arm.

She stood there, looking at him, and then smiled. She hugged him tightly. "I forgive you." She whispered. He felt her crying on his shoulder, and he hugged her back, in front of everyone. Prussia would tease him for a month about this. There was one more thing he needed to tell her, just one last thing. He simply held her, waited for her sobs of joy to stop.

And when they did, he whispered, ever so softly in her ear, "I've loved you since the 900s." and took off his chain… and placed that tomato ring back where it belonged… on her finger.

"My epic plan was a success! Let's get drunk and have a party!" America yelled into the microphone. (Where did he get that?)

~:.:~^:.:~

"Hey America!" Russia yelled, running up to the United States with possibly the largest bottle of Vodka ever viewed on the entire world. The only thing that could top it, of course, was America's giant beer can (in Lavaca, Arkansas, respectively). America turned from listening to (laughing at) England, and greeted with the traditional, "hey commie!" Someone yelled from beside him (Canada) that Russia wasn't communist anymore, but as usual, America ignored him, because, as usual, everyone ignores Canada. (Who?)

"Knock knock!" Russia yelled.

"Who's there?" America yelled even louder.

"Vodka!" Russia said.

"Vodka who? ~" America cheered.

"Vodka, I want!" Russia cheered even louder than America and took a deep swig from his drink.

"DUDE! THAT MAKES NO SENSE IN ENGLISH!" America yelled, and started to giggle.

"WHAT'S SO FUNNY, YA BLOODY-"

A self-conscious blonde girl hid behind the bar counter where Italy and Germany were deep in conversation, but about what, she didn't care. She was focused on the platinum blonde dead ahead, obviously dead drunk. She fiddled with her dress and stared from her little bunker behind the counter. A red-haired man looked at her with a curious expression, but with one of her glares, he simply walked away. Most people did. Most people were afraid of her.

Russia was not.

Russia did not see her the way others saw her. While others looked on her, they would not meet her eyes. She could see the fear held in their eyes, no matter who they were. What she saw in Russia's violet eyes, however, was a calm, child-like acceptance. 'It's who you are' his eyes would say, 'and I accept that'. It was because he knew he was scary too. He knew what it was like to see the fear in other's eyes and know they wouldn't accept you because it was both human and nation nature to feel fear, and to treat the feared much differently, whether good or evil.

However, as time passed, even Russia began to fear her. Belarus could sense it, and even felt something abominable in herself as well. She feared something, just like everyone else. The thing she feared most was losing Russia, losing his calm acceptance, losing her only chance for the other nations to accept her when she felt the violence take over her. She wanted Russia to accept her forever. She wanted him to marry her, to seal a promise of acceptance. She wanted him to love her. Unfortunately, this chance was growing less and less dim, and she grew increasingly desperate for his acceptance, his love, and then there was a spark of hope.

Make him run towards you.

Despair had set in after she'd been kicked out of America's party. How could she make him run towards her when all he did was run away? She'd settled for watching the party, watching other's examples. She found that the best examples came from her idiot sister and that other guy (well, he was female, apparently, which explained a lot) who were at the party with their crushes. The best tactic in the love war was acting weaker than you were. After careful consideration of the brunette's strengths and previous battle exploits, she noticed a pattern. Italy was acting weak around Germany. Ukraine was acting weak around Canada. That's when she got her brilliant plan. She would act weak like the other nations. She would make Russia run to her.

Belarus was here now, ready to show Russia what she'd do for him. She walked out into the open. Russia was sitting with America, who was equally drunk (or did he act like that all the time?) and was smiling wide. She reached out a hand and gently tugged his tan coat, her hand brushing against his scarf. A twinge of jealousy coursed through her when she remembered how much he cherished the scarf Ukraine gave him.

"Big brother?" He looked a little startled by her presence, but nonetheless, somehow, someway, they ended up occupying the table and were enjoying a civil conversation over cold, vodka-soaked pizza (Russia frequently spilled it. There was a limit to how much alcohol he could take, and he'd surpassed it about five bottles ago.)

"Hey Belarus?" Russia asked, grinning widely. Belarus felt a blush in her cheeks when her 'brother' said her name. (Nation relations were a little strange. They'd grown up together, but they were not actually related. There was something similar going on with Prussia and Germany, or Italy and South Italy. 'Brother' was about the closest human term they could come to when describing something other than human.)

"Da?" she asked.

"You're pretty." He giggled. "Just thought I'd let you know."

"T-Thank y-"Then she tasted vodka. At first, she was unsure what exactly was happening now. Her heartbeat quickened. Blood rushed to her head. Her eyes just barely caught glimpses of a pair of violet orbs staring back at her, and then it was over, just as quickly as it began. She unconsciously licked her lips, and felt like crying out with joy when she realized what just happened. Russia had kissed her.

"You have become one with Russia, da?" And then Russia passed out. That was okay, though. She could take care of him. She didn't mind helping him after he had a hangover. She didn't mind as long as she could stay by his side. And so, Belarus drove Russia home and made sure all the lights shut up, that he had aspirin, and that he would be okay, because she wanted to tell him something when he woke up. "Thank you, Russia."