Author's Note: Meanwhile, in Italy's POV. . .
Thursday, December 12th, 1991 : 13 days until Christmas
Some people clear their minds and come to their best conclusions while in the shower. Others will go for a long drive somewhere and some will think as they lie in bed. But for me, running is the best way to help me solve all of my problems. And sure, running away from things is a bad habit of mine, but I genuinely enjoy the act of running. Back in the day I was faster than France and could go longer than Germany. All jokes and white flags aside, I am a very good runner.
At the moment I live on the outskirts of Paris, in a cute little suburb that most people couldn't afford. It's a good neighborhood with sidewalks and pretty trails you can take that wind around the houses and streets. The longest trail is ten kilometers (6.2 miles) roundtrip; I take that one every morning right as the sun begins to shine. It makes me feel human, something I've longed to be for most of my life.
Sometimes I'll stop by a small flower shop just before going into the city. They have a wide variety of the most beautiful flowers from around the region and are always perfect for the vase in France's kitchen. Today, I picked up an arrangement of orange roses with Peruvian lilies and white carnations accented with baby's breath. I thought she would appreciate the orange shades for autumn, and besides, the last arrangement I picked up is beginning to get a little old.
But now, as I enter the house, there is no sign of her. I quickly arrange the fresh flowers in the vase before calling for her around the house.
"Frances?" I call in the living room, the dining room, everywhere. I don't recall her telling me if she had any plans, I swore she was supposed to be home today. Well, I guess she'll be alright. She is a grown woman after all, she can do as she pleases.
Sighing tiredly I walk upstairs and lay out a fresh pair of clothes on my bed before stripping down and turning on the shower. I look at myself in the mirror while taking my ponytail out and sigh. It's been sometime but I can still see the yellowish bruising on my biceps and greenish hand shaped marks on my thighs.
I still remember that night like it was yesterday; that bruising grip on my arm, my face against the wall, I could hardly even speak let alone breathe. My boundaries were constantly being pushed, I didn't appreciate the feeling of fear that shrouded my mind as my back hit the sheets and my thighs were forcefully ripped apart. I don't like that feeling. That no matter how hard I fight I'll never be strong enough to assert myself. My muscles were so tired from it they were literally shaking, screaming at me to lie still.
I remember the back of his hand gently trailing down my face, he asked if the fight in me was gone. That gesture, those words, him straddling me with no chance of escape frightened me so badly I began to cry. He immediately switched and asked me what was wrong, wiped my tears away and pulled me into a tight embrace. I cried for a while into his chest before I convinced myself that I had had enough, and I needed some time away to think. But I was scared of his reaction. Scared he'd hurt me worse than that.
"I have to use the bathroom." I remember saying and he let go of me. Slowly I stood up on shaky legs, sore muscles threatening to crumble underneath me.
"Do you need help?" He asked.
"No, it's okay. I can make it." I was biting back more tears as I used the wall to help me get down the hall, grabbing the phone and hiding in the closet. I dialed a number and prayed.
"Hello?"
"Frances? Hi, this is Felicia."
"Oh, hello darling. It is so lovely to hear your voice, but you sound disturbed, is everything alright?"
"Umm," I choked back tears, "I wanted to know if it'd be alright with you if I stayed in France for a little while."
"Of course you can stay with me, I would be more than happy to see you again. . . But, I'm afraid this is more than just a simple visit."
". . . It's Germany. . . I can't do this anymore."
"Of course my dear, you are more than welcome to stay with me."
"Thank you so much Frances, you have no idea how much this means to me."
I remember hanging up the phone and shakily walking out of the closet. That's when I ran into Germany.
The sight of fog on the mirror pulls me from my thoughts. I guess I better hop in the shower before I waste all the hot water. I don't want to think about that night anymore. As I step into the shower and begin lathering myself up with soap, I notice how tender my bruises are still. Normally I would have healed faster than this, but something about the break-up must be holding me up. Seventy years is a long time to be with someone, a long time to love someone, and I'm just not fully over it. Truthfully, I felt myself pulling away from Germany for some time. I felt like there was nothing I could do anymore that would make him happy. That wall came down and so did our connection. Sure, I miss being with him and loving him but my happiness and well-being is important too.
The front door opens and closes right when I finish putting a new set of clothes on.
Must be France!
I walk down stairs and into the kitchen only to be met with Canada's cold, violet gaze.
"Oh, we were expecting you a little later this evening, I'm sorry I didn't greet you." I say.
"No need to apologize, I am the early one. . . I take it that France isn't home?" He asks in a voice accented like England's.
"She is not. I'm actually unsure of where she went, but I'm positive she will be back soon."
"Alright. . . You don't mind if I sit here and wait, do you?"
"Of course not, go right ahead. . . Would you like some tea?"
"Sure, it couldn't hurt." I smile at him and he gives me a small one back. We make small talk for awhile as I make the tea. His presence is strangely comforting, his voice is so smooth, soft, and posh it makes you want to believe everything he says. He could literally put poison in my cup right in front of me and tell me that it wouldn't hurt me and I'd believe him. That's just one of his special properties I guess. He could be incredibly manipulative but you'd never guess it.
Before we even finish our tea, France comes through the front door holding a bag of groceries.
"I'm sorry dear that I left while you were running, but I noticed we needed a few things for tonight's dinner. Oh, Matthew, I wasn't expecting you this early. I'm so glad to see you!" She sets the bag down and kisses his cheeks.
"Glad to see you as well."
I help her set out the ingredients for dinner and wash a few of the vegetables while Canada sits at the island and watches us.
"I heard that Russia was less than kind to you at the meeting we had yesterday." France comments.
"He was just being himself."
"Did he put his hands on you?"
"He didn't hurt me."
"That's not what I asked, Matthew." She sighs and places the knife down. "Where does he get off on touching you like that? He should know better. . . I refuse to believe that is just how he acts, it only excuses his bad behavior."
"Wait," I interrupt, "he hit you?"
"No. I was completely fine. He merely used harsh words."
"Is this because of Prussia?" France adds.
"U-uh, most likely." Canada looks between us as a small blush comes to his face.
"Aww he does have it bad." I joke to France.
"I told you," she giggles, "love is a wonderful thing."
"And too strong of a word. . . Can both of you promise me we will not talk about Prussia with the other two here?"
"Of course. Why not?" France asks.
"I would rather not spend the night being hounded by America on all the details of what Prussia and I may be. . . Not to mention the topic is a little sore, since I've been strongly discouraged from seeing him."
"Ugh," France rolls her eyes, "I will never understand Russia's overbearing need to cause so much evil in the world. He never used to be like that. . ."
"I know." I solemnly agree. I can still remember the first time I met Russia. My grandfather took my brother and I to Constantinople to see papa, and that's when I met him. Papa and Russia were together for a very long time, and I always remembered Russia as a very happy and hopeful person. He would take care of me and Romano when my grandfather and papa had business to attend to. I loved the stories he would tell us. He was probably only physically sixteen though. I know a lot has changed since then.
"It is true, he has changed, but. . . I don't know he had never been so aggressive to me before so it just felt weird. But I was and am fine." Canada says softly.
"Alright," France sighs out, "I'll stop asking about it. And we promise not to bring up Prussia."
"Thank you."
Not long after our conversation England and America finally show up. We all catch up with each other while Frances and I prepare dinner. It is an amazing time to say the least, filled with laughs, anecdotes, and good food. Around midnight France calls it and we all retreat into our respective rooms. I follow France to hers and right as I close the door she wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me in for a kiss. She's incredibly intoxicating. It's hard not to swoon at the touch of her hand, or the sound of her dazzling voice. I'm done for every single time.
"I hope that wasn't too weird for you." She says while dressing down to the lingerie she had underneath her clothes. I watch her, mesmerized for a few moments before gaining my ability to speak again.
"No, not at all. It was a nice night."
She crawls onto the bed and lies down on her back, allowing one of her hands to trail up her stomach and chest, up to her mouth where she teasingly bites her index finger. Oh my, she's hard to resist. Almost as if I'm in a trance I slowly walk over to her and crawl onto the bed.
"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself. . . Sometimes the tension between us gets to be a little much, but tonight was surprisingly agreeable." She says while turning on the lamp next to her side of the bed.
"It was." I say softly, resting my head on her stomach and holding her tightly.
"Alright, let's see, we left off on chapter six." She says before opening up the book she has been reading to me. Her voice is so comforting, I absolutely love listening to it. This is how she normally puts me to sleep if we don't spend the night getting intimate.
After two more chapters her voice begins to crack, causing me to sit up.
"Do you want me to get you some water?" I offer.
"That would be lovely, dear."
I give her a quick kiss before putting on a satin robe and heading toward the kitchen. As I approach, it becomes apparent that people are already there, speaking. I prepare myself to greet them before something stops me in my tracks.
"I don't know I-"
"Usually you are a lot more discreet than this. What is wrong?"
Canada sounds awfully distressed as England quietly scolds him. I feel bad for listening in on them but my curiosity gets the better of me.
"Nothing is wrong, Russia is just observant and cynical by nature."
"If you knew that going into it why weren't you more careful?"
"How could I have been more careful than literally leaving Europe?"
". . . The plan was smart to begin with but people talk. Is anyone else suspicious?"
"No, not to my knowledge. No one really suspects much of me."
"I know, that's why I asked you. Not to mention America could never be so discreet. . . Tell me what you learned."
"Exactly what I suspected, Prussia is no threat. There is no information that I would be able to get from him that would be useful for you. And I'm disappointed that you even asked me to do this."
"Well you did it, didn't you?"
"Because I wanted to help a sick man get better. I never wanted to be a part of this. . ."
"You cannot play the sad act now, Matthew. You are in this too deep. Do you understand how hard it was for me to convince France to suggest to Italy and Germany you be the one to look over him? I didn't do that so you could become friends or, God-forbid, lovers. I want to know if he poses a threat to democracy, and if he had any information that could help us with the Terror of The North."
Some silence passes between them before Canada speaks up.
"I already told you he is not a threat, and he has no information that would be useful."
"What of these rumors? Are they true?"
"No."
"Really? Because I have some pretty incriminating evidence that would suggest otherwise. Like you and him in a rather romantic embrace."
"You know what work like this entails, sometimes you have to play along."
"Well your playing along has gotten you in trouble, and has possibly compromised us to Russia."
"I know. . . I'm sorry."
"Lay low for a while."
"I plan to."
My heart is racing as I hear footsteps walk down the opposite hall. I'm so shocked by what I overheard that I can't move my feet from where they stand. Should I tell France? Oh no, poor Prussia. . . Is he in danger? Has Canada had a nefarious intention this entire time? Did I unknowingly invite more evil into his life?
"Oh, Felicia, I wasn't expecting you to be standing there." Canada says as he walks into the hallway.
"Oh, um, yeah, I was, uh, just getting some water." I manage, meeting his cold purple gaze.
"As was I. . . You seem nervous, Felicia are you alright?"
"Yes, I'm just fine. Nightmare is all." For some reason I find myself getting cold, very cold. My bottom lip finds itself in between my teeth to stop their chattering.
"You're still shivering. Would you like me to walk you back to your room?"
"Uh, no, I'll be fine."
I've always been able to sense danger well, and right now my meter is going off the charts. But why? Canada hardly has a threatening bone in his body, not to mention he's never hurt me before. Yet for some reason something is telling me to get out of here. Against my better judgement I remain standing with him in the hallway.
"I insist."
I find myself slowly back away from him, heart picking up as adrenaline begins to enter my bloodstream.
"It's okay, thank you though."
"I thought you were going to the kitchen for water?"
"Uh, I'm just tired. I'll get some in the morning." He takes a step toward me and I feel my flight or fight kick in.
Flight.
I turn to run down the hall but he grabs my arm and pulls me back, immobilizing my arms with one of his. I'm so shocked by the sudden turn of events I can't process the situation properly. I open my mouth to call for France but find it covered by his other hand. My heart is practically beating out of my chest as I struggle to no avail in his grip. He is unbelievably strong.
"I am so sorry Felicia. You should have just stayed in your room."
His hand uncovers my mouth, yet, before I can gather up the energy to scream something pushes into my arm.
"Wh-what was that? What are you doing?" I ask in a shaky voice.
"Nothing harmful. You're just going to sleep for a couple of hours, and forget what had happened."
A strong wave of fatigue washes over me and my muscles begin to fail me. He picks me up and begins walking me toward my bedroom. Once we get to the top of the stairs I see France walking down the hallway and I try calling to her for help to no avail.
"What happened?" She asks, rushing over toward us.
"She fell a bit faint while in the kitchen. Poor thing must be under a lot of stress." He answers.
"Oh, Felicia my dear. Do you mind carrying her to my room? I'll watch over her."
"Of course." Every bone in my body is trying to scream for help but I don't move. I don't speak. I feel like I'm experiencing sleep paralysis. He lays me down on her bed and I remain dead still.
"Was she feeling ill earlier?" He asks.
"I don't think so, she didn't mention anything. But she has been under a lot of emotional stress due to the break-up. Thank you for taking care of her."
"Of course. Good night."
"Good night, darling."
December 13th, 1991
I found that ever since I started viewing France in a romantic way I began comparing her to Germany. Last night's dinner came with a lot of comparisons, for example. She was so at home with herself, carried the conversations so well, smiled lovingly, and was proud of the ones she loved. Germany had never been good with conversation, sometimes stumbling over his words more so then he actually said anything meaningful. We had so many quiet dinners, where only the sound of our silverware hitting plates filled the room. Sometimes I'd try to start conversations but they never lasted. . .
It's so easy to get France to smile. She laughs at my jokes, smiles when I walk into the room, and allows herself to feel happiness and joy unabashedly. Getting Germany to smile is like pulling teeth; he finds nothing funny, deadpans at me when I do silly things, and refuses to allow himself to have any sort of fun. The last time I saw Germany smile like a normal person was before the Great War. . . He really changed after all that.
France knows how to touch me. She has a gift, the gift of knowing exactly what to do. Her sultry smirk can get my heart pounding, or the way her delicate fingers hold onto my hips. She kisses me breathless, holds me and touches me like my body is the only thing she can feel. Everything is so soft, delicate, loving, sensual. She is the epitome of passion, something Germany hardly knows the meaning of. Sure, I liked the way he held me at night and the little kisses I'd get from him throughout the day. . . But there was just something so dark behind it all, how he could bruise me so easily, enjoyed my pained expressions. France made love to me, Germany conquered me.
I don't mean to compare the two so much but I can't help it. It shows me just how much I missed being happy, missed being with someone who could be happy. Leaving Germany was so hard for me to do but. . . I think we will both be better for it in the long run.
December 14th, 1991
If he was nothing but one thing it was punctual. Right when the clock struck five a knock sounded on the door.
"You know, it's not too late to cancel." I offer.
"Oh don't worry darling, I know exactly how to handle him." She reaches up and caresses my cheek. "This shouldn't take too long. I'll come and get you when it's all over."
I put on a worried face and she giggles.
"If you say so. . . I'll be close enough to come help if you need it." I offer.
"It'll be alright, Felicia. Now go, I have to answer the door." She says before giving me a quick kiss. I don't want her to be alone but I know she's a grown woman and can handle herself. I dip into another room but press my ear against the wall so I can hear everything. If she needs me I'll be there at a moment's notice.
"It's been such a long time since I've been invited into your home. It's lovelier than I could have ever imagined." I hear Russia's deep, heavily accented English easily through the wall.
"Thank you, Ivan. . . Unfortunately this little meeting is about business, not pleasure."
"Hm, where's the fun in that?" I don't like the tone of his voice. Not one bit.
"I know, but bear with me. Would you like some tea?"
"That sounds wonderful."
I don't hear their voices for a few minutes and it makes me nervous. Just before I move to check up on them I hear her voice.
"I wanted to talk to you about the last international meeting we had. . . I know what you did to Canada."
"Then I'm sure you know what he had done to warrant my reaction."
"I doubt a physical reaction was necessary. Their relationship is harmless, let them be together."
"This is about national security Frances, I'm sure you understand." His voice almost sounds like he is smirking, enjoying the mischief and discomfort he's causing.
"You used to be so gracious and kind. . . I was hoping to evoke that part of you today." She says in a small voice. He chuckles a bit before answering her.
"You were really banking on the few good times we had together so long ago? I am no longer that boy you knew, France. There is none of that left in me."
"Are you trying to tell me that all of that is gone? What we had?"
"This, uh, is not going to work on me. I'm sorry, but you can't pretend like nothing happened between us for decades, nay, centuries, then all of a sudden remember it and try to use it against me when you want something. I loved you. Loved is the key word. Past tense."
"I'm sorry that I hurt you by being so distant and cold. Vengeance has always gotten the better of me, and I apologize that I left you alone because of it. I know you haven't had it easy, and I know that you're dying. . . I'm just trying to look out for my boy, I know how happy Prussia makes him."
". . . It would still be potentially dangerous."
"Is this more than just national security?" She asks.
"What? What do you mean?"
"Do you, perhaps, forbid Prussia from this because you yourself want him?"
"Well of course I want him, I want him to be completely loyal to me. . . What?. . . No, it's not like that, absolutely not. . . Fine, I'll tell you what. I'll allow this contemptible relationship between the two of them in exchange for a favor from you."
A long silence follows after his words and I press myself against the wall a little more to try and listen better.
"What do you want me to do?" She finally speaks up.
"I just want you to owe me a favor. When the time comes, no questions asked." This time I can hear the smirk through his words, the sinister tone behind it all, and the power he holds over her at the moment. It makes me uncomfortable.
"Deal."
I cover my mouth in shock.
December 15th, 1991
To prove my loyalty. It's for my people.
It was 1917 and I was nervous, scared, sick to my stomach. The gates were always open. The moon was full, hanging in the sky like a bulb.
I could see the open gates, the large fountain in Austria's front lawn, and the lack of security out tonight. My information was good. I avoided the path up to the front doors, using the grass instead to silence my steps. My job was one thing and one thing only: kill Germany.
I had been on the German side since the beginning of the war, but switched once the allies gave me an offer I couldn't refuse. In order to prove my loyalty I must kill Germany's physical form. Sure, we all know he will just come back, but it'll put him out of commission for a few days and really mess with Prussia's focus. It'll help give us the edge we need to end this God-forsaken war.
I approach one of the windows to the piano room and slowly slide it open. Nothing can compare to the relief I feel as I notice the maid working on the inside did as she was told. She was supposed to leave the window unlocked and use the powder we gave her to sedate the dogs and Prussia. My heart picks up as I quietly move through the dark house, finding the large marble staircase that'll take me to the bedrooms. Once on the second floor I turn to my right and count the doors until I'm before the one Germany should be in. Conveniently, the door is slightly ajar, allowing me to softly push it open. I step into the room while taking the knife on my belt into my hands. The plan is simple. Cut his throat while he's sleeping, take away his ability to fight or call for help, and leave him dead among the soaked red sheets as I escape through the window and onto one of the horses the maid will be waiting with outside. Her reward is immunity and a quiet place in France.
My hands begin to shake as I look down at the bed before me. He looks so peaceful, asleep on top of the covers, moonlight shining off his bare chest and stomach. I can't help but be overwhelmed by so many memories and my feelings for him. I'm torn between doing what is right by my nation, and what is right by my heart. The grip on my knife couldn't be any tighter as I try to convince myself to step forward and get it over with. As I lift the knife, however, an arm comes around my waist and a hand wraps around my mouth. My gasp is muffled, the knife in my hand falls silently onto the plush sheets of the bed. I'm lifted off of the ground and pulled out of the room despite my attempt to fight.
My screams are muffled, but what would even happen if they weren't? I'm in enemy territory, no one will come to save me.
"Ah!" I gasp as I'm dropped on to the floor.
"Huh. It would seem you are correct." I look up and see Austria sitting in a chair before me, tight grip on the arm of a maid.
"I'm so sorry, please, I just wanted a better life for my son-" She tries pleading but is cut off by a loud gunshot and drops dead to the floor. Once the ringing in my ears subside I look behind me and see Prussia standing there, gun in hand.
"I thought we were going to try and do this silently." Austria says.
"I don't like begging. Might as well end it before I change my mind." Prussia's eyes look down at me with no hint of mercy or compassion. All I can see is pure bloodlust.
"Fair enough. . . What are you doing here, Italy?" I turn back to Austria and attempt to stand, but am kicked back down by Prussia. "Answer me."
With tears in my eyes I look at Austria.
"I'm sure you already know everything."
"That's low, even for France. To come here at the dead of night to secretly kill a boy."
"We could let the dogs tear her apart." Prussia says from behind me.
"We could. Or you could end her like the poor maid. It'll be cleaner."
"Suit yourself."
"Wait!" The door opens and we all turn to look. Germany puts his hand on Prussia and makes him lower the gun. "Let her go."
"She came here to kill you." Prussia says.
"I know. . . Please just let her go." Austria thinks for a few moments before relenting.
"Fine, we will let her go." Tears fall from my eyes as Germany helps me stand up.
"Ah!" I yelp as I open my eyes.
"Felicia? Is something the matter?" France asks groggily. I look around the room and recognize it as hers.
"Oh, nothing. . . One of those dreams you know?"
"I hate when I get those."
"What time is it?" I ask, heart still pounding from my dream.
"Nearly three in the morning. Are you sure you're alright?"
"I just need to clear my head." I mutter out, quickly putting on my running shoes and slipping on a bra.
"Hun, it's too early for you to be running around the neighborhood, it can be dangerous."
"I'll be fine. I need to do this."
I run down the stairs and out the door, turning left on the sidewalk and running almost at a sprint. I just wish I could get Germany out of my head. Dreaming about betraying him isn't helping me get over him. I keep getting bombarded with thoughts of him, swirling around in my mind. I run, trying to get away from the memories, trying to forget how he makes me feel, trying to stop loving him. I remember the first time I looked into his bright blue eyes and how my heart skipped a beat. How we used to play together as children, how we fought on each other's side, how broken he was when I left not once but twice. I remember how happy I was when he chose me over Czechia, his warm smile looked just like Holy Rome's.
I remember the balls Austria used to host before the Great War and how handsome Germany was and how he would always ask for my first and last dance.
He was so broken and I wasn't there for him after everything that happened in 1947. How could I be? By the time we reconciled I thought we could be happy again, I wanted what we had all those years ago. . . But there was a Prussia shaped whole in his heart that I could never fill. He's so self-conscious now, scared to appear passionate. He dilutes himself into a safe empty husk that is easy for others to consume. He has a lot of anger still inside of him that comes out in the worst ways, and lingering sadistic tendencies that frighten me.
I feel tears well in my eyes, I am out of breath, almost hyperventilating. My body goes numb and I fall into the grassy field I ran into.
He needed me and I did what I do best. I ran.