Chapter Three - Finding Italy

Germany could not find Italy. He had searched high and low for the Italian, in both usual and unusual places. Starting with the obvious he had hunted around the conference centre, but had only succeeded in finding a very angry cleaner. A few mumbled apologies, a long cleaning session and promises of financial compensation later found the weary German searching the darkening streets around the centre. Still not unduly concerned, the German hopped in his flashy, silver Mercedes and started driving to the Italian's house.

The streets of Rome were bathed in the golden glow of a warm, summer twilight and the stoic German took a few moments to appreciate the ancient city. Gaggles of tourists hogged the pavements as they headed to the cities restaurants and bars, while locals chatted to each other on their way home from work. A couple of market vendors paused their end of day labours to hit on a couple of passing American tourists who fished over their "quaint" European ways. Even the traffic seemed laid back, with the normally jumpy Italian drivers taking their time to go slow, as though everybody wanted to spend as much time in the sun as possible.

Germany could not help but feel soothed by the relaxed, holiday atmosphere that surrounded the city. He had felt so stressed for so long that even a few working days in the sunshine of Rome seemed to ease his frayed nerves. Not that that had helped much during the conference mind. Germany had felt a pounding headache come on within minutes of entering the room and the usual antics of the other nations did nothing remotely useful. All this had been building for so long, that he knew he had been at breaking point from stress for a while. The German felt close to the edge, weighed down by the expectations of the other nations and the even more demanding expectations of his own mind. Simply lowering his self standards sounds simple enough but the German had always wanted what was best both for his people and the people of the wider world. Still, he was worn down and he knew it.

Hence the guilt...

Poor Italy! He knew he should not have shouted at him and he tried to be as patient as he could but one thing led to another and gosh...he needed to make it up to his friend. He knew if he explained how stressed he was it would solve it, and despite the German's natural misgivings for talking about matters close to the heart, he was willing to make an exception. The German had it all planned out, he was going to take Italy out for some pasta and explain how he felt, then he was going to book the axis some time off work. Italy, Germany and Japan were going to go for some time away and switch off, just like old times. They could book a holiday in the sun somewhere remote and just relax. No people, no meetings and best of all no stress headaches.

Smiling slightly to himself, the German pulled over to the Italian's house and got out the car - yes it would all work out just fine...

Germany blinked. Strange that there were no lights on in the house, he was sure that Italy would be home by now. Cautiously, he stepped over to the door and rang the doorbell. Silence. He tried again. Nothing.

The man sighed, he had been convinced that Italy would be home, but not even Romano seemed to be there. He bit his bottom lip, a tinge of concern in his steel blue eyes. What now? He pondered in his head. Maybe the Italian had just gone for some food? Or...what? Tentatively, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile phone. He had not yet tried to ring the Italian, it had never crossed Germany's mind that he would not be able to find him, but he felt that for his own peace of mind he had better try. Frowning, he bashed in speed dial one and pressed the phone to his ear.

"I'm sorry but the person you are calling cannot pick up the phone right now, please leave a message after the tone."

BLEEP

"Er...hello Italy, it's Germany. Could you give me a ring when you get this message? I just wanted to check you're okay." He paused awkwardly for a moment, "Bye." Germany finished lamely. He has never been much good with voice mails.

Germany tried the doorbell once more for good measure before making his way back to the car. He took a few minutes to make sure the Bluetooth was connected to his phone in case the Italian rang, before he set off to drive back to the hotel. By this time, dusk had settled over the city, leaving lights to twinkle like a myriad of stars across the dark streets of Rome. The German concentrated on the road, focussing on driving rather than worrying for his friend.

Before long, he was settled in his hotel room with a bottle of beer and a small plate of sausages, peas and mashed potatoes. Mindlessly, he flicked through his book How to Talk to Italians but no useful advice leapt from the pages. Maybe a better book would be how not to be an overstressed, overworked German who snaps at his best friend. A quick google check quickly dismissed any notions that such a book existed.

After his dinner, he picked up his phone and rang the Italian again, only to receive the same message as before. Trying a different tactic he tried ringing Romano, fully expecting an earful of swearing and potato-bastard hate and instead receiving a voicemail message. Next, he tried Japan and to his joy the man picked up...

"Japan speaking? Who is it?" The comforting tones of Japan had rarely seemed more welcome.

"Ah...Japan, it's Germany. I was just wondering if you had seen Italy at all since the meeting?"

"Italy? No? I have been watching horror movies with America-san since the end of the meeting." There was a short pause as Japan thought for a moment, "Did he not head home?"

"No." Replied the German, "I looked and he wasn't there, I've tried ringing him and Romano and both their phones went to voice mail. I'm worried, it's not like Italy to disappear like this."

There was another long pause on the other end of the phone, broken only by the sound of America screaming in the background, presumably at the horror movie, although it could just be because burgers are not a common dish in Italy. The sound of rustling, footsteps and a slammed door suggested that Japan had exited the room and gone somewhere private to finish his conversation.

"My apologies Germany-san. Might I make a suggestion?"

"Go on?" Germany stated hopefully, Japan usually had a good head for situations like these.

"Well, the next day of the conference is tomorrow. Italy is unlikely to miss it, even if he is sometimes late. We will give it until mid afternoon tomorrow, then if he still does not turn up we can ask the other nations if they have seen him and then go from there?" The man paused for a moment. "Does that sound fair?"

It was not quite the instant solution that Germany had hoped for but it was a sensible proposition. The German agreed quickly and the two said their goodbyes with a promise that they would ring each other if they heard from the Italian in the meantime. Satisfied enough for now, the German looked over his paperwork for the meeting the next day before getting an early night.

He dreamt of golden beaches, gentle tides and making pasta sandcastles in the sun...

A/N: I am sorry for the long wait, I went off writing for a while. The lovely comments people have left have made me enthusiastic about this story again, so thank you for those and for following this. I do plan on finishing it and hopefully updating more regularly from now on. I don't own Hetalia. Sorry this chapter was less lighthearted, the story will pick up again next time.