"It's just so . . . heavy," Italy commented in a fascinated voice. He tilted his head to one side as he watched America demolish a plate full of fried sticks of mozzarella cheese between bites of a large bowl of shrimp scampi. "And you're eating so much of it," he added, then took a bite of his (excellent) spaghetti alla puttanesca.
Alfred took a moment to swallow before responding, a look of mock offense on his face. "Watch it, I'm still growing here!"
Italy waved a hand, a cheery smile crossing his face. "I do not mean to offend you! It's wonderful how you love my food. It is what we do best. But Americans also do it very well. Different, but still very, very good. I wish all nations just made wonderful food and beautiful art and then we could all get along all the time! Wouldn't that be nice? America and Italy together. We will teach everyone to make pasta. But first you must tell me, Italy, how you make my food, different but delicious."
"Well, it evolved as different kinds of ingredients were and were not available," Alfred commented. Glancing down at his hands, he considered sucking the last of the cheesy grease of them. Regretfully concluding this would be a horrible breach in manners, he picked his napkin up off his lap and began to wipe his hands. "Time was another factor," he continued. "Alfredo sauce was developed from al burro because lots of home chefs didn't have time to perfectly mix the butter and parmesan. Adding cream cut the time down a lot and bam," he slapped the table, causing the glasses and plates to rattle, "fettucini alfredo is born."
"Have you made extensive study of cooking?" Germany asked, pausing as he worked his way through his plate of lobster fra diavolo.
"Me? Nah," Alfred shook his head. He reached out and picked up another soft piece of bread and started mopping up the last remaining bits of the zesty lemon sauce left in the bottom of his bowl. "I just like food," he grinned. "I mean, I've worked as a waiter and done a spell washing dishes." He snickered suddenly, the hand holding his bread pausing momentarily. "I remember this one time, back in the 1950s or so, I was cleaning dishes at this posh steak restaurant. Just me and the other guy, Mark, working on a mountain of dishes. We had the radio on cranking out some rock'n'roll over the sound of the water and the clanging of dishes and pots and stuff - it was super loud. Anyways, we're cleaning and rocking away when the maitre d' comes in looking all shook up. Turns out the place had been held up and we were none the wiser! Crazy, right?"
"How frightening!" Italy's eyes went wide.
"No one got hurt and the guy didn't make it a block before the cops nabbed him," Alfred's eyes went wistful for a moment before he returned to scraping up the last remnants of his dinner. "So it worked out okay and it makes for an interesting story."
Germany wiped his mouth with his napkin. "It sounds as though you have pursued a wide array of professions before now," he commented, blue eyes watching the other man intently.
Alfred popped the bread into his mouth, chewing slowly as his mind raced. This, more than anything else, was the reason the other Nations were so upset. He'd had opportunities and freedom they could only dream of. And now, after the horrible mess that was Austin, he'd been given a choice by his government on whether or not to work with them as their official representative. He swallowed and took a small sip from the water glass in front of him.
"It was a good way to keep busy," he began, watching Germany and Italy carefully from behind his usual cheery mask. "And to learn how all the different parts of the U.S., of me, I guess you could say, really work." He took another sip of water then set the glass down firmly. "The way things work on Wall Street in New York City is really different from running a cattle ranch in Oklahoma. Miners in West Virginia have different challenges facing them than inner city communities in Los Angeles. Add in all the different climates and types of land and the passage of time." He shrugged as his voice trailed off, frowning slightly, unsure how to continue to explain how important it was to him to travel and really experience the differences within his borders. He may not truly understand all of them but it was important that he at least try.
"You have so much land," Italy responded in a thoughtful voice. "And so many different people. The native population, the original British settlers, all the different people from all over the world." He shook his head and gave Alfred a warm smile. "It would take a long time just to list all of them!"
"And it's not really all that different from the work the rest of us do," Canada added softly, speaking up for the first time in a long while. "You've just been working on a different scale than us and more directly with people."
Nodding slowly in agreement, Germany gave Alfred a rueful smile.
"Indeed," he agreed. "It sounds . . . very similar. I must confess, I wish I'd had similar freedom in choosing my activities." A dark shadow passed over the German's eyes. "Unfortunately, things took a different turn."
Alfred winced internally. The modern German state, even accounting for the changes in government of the last century, was very young compared to most countries in the world. And the personification in front of him had spent most of the twentieth century either embroiled in war or suffering under the weight of losing said wars.
"Yeah, well," he hurried to say, wanting to dispel the unpleasant memories creeping up in the other man's mind, "in the end I'm here now. And come on," he gave the Europeans a saucy wink, dramatically fluttering his eyelashes, "everything's better now that the Hero is here!"
Italy burst into a fit of giggles at his exaggerated actions. His merriment continued for several minutes, an increasingly embarrassed Germany trying harder and harder to silence the chortling Italian with no success. Each time one spurt of giggling seemed to slow another would begin.
By the time Italy was finally able to get himself under control, nearly every eye in the restaurant was on him as he sat with his head buried in his arms. His shoulders heaved as he took deep breaths, slowly bringing himself under control. Finally, he peeped up, head rocking to the side.
"I am very happy!" he beamed, an occasional spurt of laughter escaping his lips. "I am very happy that you are here and that we can be friends!"
"It makes me happy as well!" America grinned. His heart was pounding in chest and the tightness that had been coiling inside him since the meeting started finally began to loosen. He hadn't expected to make friends in this new job, not outside Canada, at least.
"We are all very happy," Germany stated, teeth clenched. His checks had a noticeably red tinge to them, hinting at how embarrassed he was that Italy was attracting so much attention from the other diners. "In fact, we can be even happier if we sit quietly and stop attracting so much attention!"
Alfred bit back a bark of amusement. Germany was far more sensitive than his almost overwhelming physical presence suggested. "Dessert?" he suggested, trying to keeping his voice low.
Italy sat back up with a sudden bounce and leaned close to Alfred.
"You said earlier they had real zeppola, and pignoli! We should try some!" He clapped his hands together in excitement. This was without question the best meal he'd ever had in the United States. America had been so considerate, making sure they had wonderful Italian-American food. It was different from back home but still good. And America himself was funny! And happy and helpful. So different from so many of the others.
"What about you?" Alfred asked, turning to Canada. He raised an inquiring brow. "You've been quiet all evening."
"Oh, sorry," Canada replied in startled surprise. He hadn't realized anyone had noticed. "It's, um . . " His voice trailed off and he held up his phone, which had been resting in his lap. "France has been texting off and on for the last hour or so. England seems to be in quite a mood and nothing France has tried has gotten him out of it yet. He's not used to failing to at least affect England, so now France is in a bad mood." He looked at his phone, contemplating with a frown the shift in tone the messages had been taking throughout dinner. "I think they're starting to feed off each other."
"Perhaps an intervention is needed," Germany speculated with a grimace. Delicate emotional states were an anathema to him. The sulking and whining that often resulted from such prissy moods inevitably dragged everyone down and he'd yet to find a book that told him how to fix it.
"I can stay for dessert but I should probably go chase them down afterwards," Canada concluded, still looking at his phone. "I think they've been in a bar for a while now and that-" he paused, "that will not end well."
Alfred nodded thoughtfully, remember how morose and confused England had been in Austin back in April after just a few hours of drinking. "Well, considering his mood is probably my fault, maybe I should go get him," he murmured, brow furrowed as he considered the idea.
Canada looked a little alarmed. "Actually, I think you should leave him be for now," he hurried to say. A hint of anxiety appeared in his lilac eyes. "At least until we figure out exactly why you bother him so much. This is all very strange. It's not like him."
Germany gave Canada a disbelieving look.
"I mean," a blush started to spread over the northern Nation's cheeks. "He's keeping it all a secret. If he's upset with someone, you know why. Or at least, up until now." He gave a mournful, apologetic look at America. "At this point, anyone else would have gotten an earful. I have some, um, theories but it's mostly speculation." Canada winced slightly inside. He didn't want America to know about some of the nasty rumor-mongering England had started engaging in lately.
"Maybe he slept funny," America sighed. He reached over and patted his brother's back. "Probably got that stick up his butt lodged somewhere extra unpleasant."
"Oh, God, don't even say that around him," Canada groaned, dropping his head into his hands. He sighed. He loved America, truly, but things had gotten very complicated since he had joined them. "It's going to take a while, especially since France still doesn't trust you either," he muttered, voice muffled by his hands. He raised his head slightly, peeking up over slender fingertips. "And you're leaving in a few hours and I'm not going to be able to go or help you or anything if they're really in a state."
"Hey, s'all right!" Alfred gave his brother another pat. "It's not like the U.S. and Japan aren't already allies. This'll be a piece of cake!"
Italy giggled softly.
"Not quite," he teased.
Alfred blinked, a look of confusion crossing his face.
A waiter suddenly appeared and set down two plates with the promised desserts on them.
"I went ahead and ordered," Italy boasted. He reached out and picked up one of the pignoli, eyeing the almond flavored macaroon with hungry eyes. "You'll have to tell them if you want cake," he continued. "I think they had some kind of cake on there if you don't want the pignoli or zeppola."
Alfred stared at Italy for a moment then, much to Germany's horror and embarrassment, let out a loud roar of laughter.
"Nice," Alfred howled. "Very punny." Grinning at the cheery Italian, he reached out and picked up one of the zeppola, custard leaking out of the puffy doughnut.
Germany reached out for one of the pignoli.
"You are going to see Japan?" he asked, not wanting to overstep his bounds but very much hoping to move America and Italy away from puns and jokes and all the ways they were trying to make each other laugh (and causing such a scene).
America nodded, still clutching the sweet doughnut. He hurried to swallow. "Yeah, we're going over some defense stuff." He shrugged and took another bite of the zeppola with the side of his fork.
"It's been a long time since I went to see Japan," Italy commented wistfully. An idea struck him, sending a current of electricity through him. He was so struck that he dropped part of the pignoli onto his plate. "America!" he gasped, leaning forward to stare intently at the other nation. "We should all go together! You and Japan can do the business stuff very quickly and then we can go sightseeing!"
Turning, Italy grasped Germany's coat sleeve, giving it an excited tug. "Germany, you should come with us! It will be so much fun! Us and America in Japan! It will be like old times but even better!"
Grabbing at Italy's hand, Germany tried desperately to calm the other nation down, inwardly horrified at Italy's imposition.
The Mediterranean nation refused to be swayed and deliberately drove forward with his steamroller of words, methodically grinding Germany's protests to mush. He would not be denied.
Alfred grinned at Canada, who merely shook his head and glanced skyward, lips moving in a silent supplication.
"I'm glad you won't be alone," Canada murmured.
"Should be fun," Alfred agreed. He grabbed one of the few remaining macaroons and pushed it at his brother. "Go find France and England before they hurt my city," he ordered, tone light. "I got this," he continued, gesturing at the table, "and I think I'm in good hands."
Nodding in agreement, Canada rose, tucking his phone in his pocket then picking up the business jacket he'd slung over the back of the chair, macaroon in the other hand. "I'll see you when you get back," he promised. "And I'll let you know how things go with England."
"Sounds great," Alfred replied, a wry smile on his face. "See you later!"