Chapter Four – Stage One - Dress the Part
The gaggle of three stepped off the plane at Heathrow airport, collected their bags and made their way to the terminal exit and out into the pouring, miserable British weather.
"Ve...ve...ve why does it always rain in your place, England?" Italy moaned, wrapping his arms around himself as they waited for the taxi to turn up. The little curl on his head wilted a little and his expression was filled with timeless misery.
"It's not raining that badly." Mumbled England, as he glanced up at the night dark, clouded sky. He shrugged slightly and reached into his briefcase for a compact, red and white striped umbrella, which he put up quickly and offered to the two shivering Italians. "Here, this should help. The British are always prepared for all four seasons to come at once." He said with a rueful smile directed at them. Romano snatched up the umbrella and instinctively shifted it to protectively shelter his brother, before squeezing himself in as well. The gesture was missed by Italy, but England's expression softened almost imperceptibly at the sweet motion of brotherly love.
"Thanks Tea Bastard." Despite Romano's brotherly affection, the nation was scowling more than usual, having had to drop Tomato the kitten off with Spain, after swearing him to secrecy about their movements. "Spain can't even look after turtles, let alone kittens." He grumbled to himself in worry, as he has most of the flight over to England. Romano's tough exterior crumbled around his kitten and he had barely had the wee mite out his sight since they picked him up from the breeder three weeks ago.
"Ve...we won't be gone long. I'm sure Tomato will be fine in the meantime!" Italy beamed a smile at his brother.
"Tomato Bastard lost me after five minutes of having me...fish-faced bastard had better not lose Tomato." He grumbled again, starting to wish he had never come on this escapade. He glanced over to the Englishman, standing straight backed in the rain. The real reason Romano had come was not to see his brother turn rebellious, he would doubtless witness the consequences of that at a later stage; but rather to figure out what the Tea Bastard wanted. He had no doubt that there was some sort of ulterior motivation for his behaviour, other than simply being nice. After all, the two Italy's barely knew England and the most contact they had ever had was when they were on opposite sides in the Second World War. It was not as though the Englishman had a lot to gain from doing this, other than perhaps to satisfy his own curiosity, or teach Germany a lesson. So, Romano had come, determined to figure out what was going on behind that stiff upper lip and to make sure it would not hurt his little brother. After all, he knew he was a bit of a useless big brother, and he had often made mistakes in the past; but he always tried his best for little Italy and would never see any harm come to him if it could be avoided. It was why he so strongly disapproved of Germany – the Potato Bastard was far too mean to his brother and Romano strongly disapproved.
The rain continued to pour and England progressively looked more like a drowned rat as time went on. Italy and Romano were both cold and huddled together a little under the brolly to keep warm. Finally, after what seemed like hours (but was in reality about twenty minutes), the black cab turned up and the three hopped into the warm and dry. The taxi took them on a winding route through the dark streets of soggy London. Italy dozed off, resting his head on his brother's shoulder while he slept, snoring faintly. Romano grumbled under his breath but failed to hide the glint of happiness in his brown eyes from his Italy's cute gesture. England simply stared out the window, watching the familiar streets go by with quiet patience.
Sometime later found the three of them wrapped up in warm, hand knitted blankets, snuggled on a squishy old sofa and drinking warming hot chocolate in England's flat. It was a small, cramped, one bedroom flat, but suited the Englishman's purposes when he was in the city - close to the city centre, well connected transport links and near a good pub. He had quickly cleaned his bedroom and made the sheets up for the brothers to share his double bed, stating it was only right the host slept on the sofa. The three had agreed to warm up a bit then get an early night, all of them mildly jet lagged and very worn out from their long day. They sat in a comfortable silence, all of them too worn out and thoughtful to be too worried about awkwardness.
After a while, Italy quietly piped up, "Ve...do you think Germany is okay?" The other two turned their heads to look at his innocent and worried expression.
"Don't you worry about that damned kraut!" Replied England with a warm smile, "It shows you're a good friend if he upsets you and still worries you. No there is no need to fret about him, he reaps what he sows and if he can't handle that then...it's tough titties to him!" England nodded passionately, the effect of his serious demeanour somewhat ruined by the ridiculous phrase.
Italy giggled, "Ve...ve...England your language is funny!" Even Romano managed a smirk as England huffed indignantly.
"You're starting to sound like that bloody American!" He rolled his eyes and finished his drink, "Right, come on your two. Off to bed! We have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow." They finished their drinks and the three hurried to bed, falling into exhausted sleep quickly. Italy cuddled up to his big brother sweetly, Romano sprawled like a star fish and England uncomfortably snuggled in the foetal position on the sofa.
-Hetalia-
It was early the next morning and England was up and about already. He had always been something of an early riser and today was no exception. Already he had showered, dressed and was ready and raring to face the day. After the long day yesterday, England decided to start the day with a treat and cooked enough sausage sandwiches, tea and coffee to feed a small army (or two very hungry Italians). Setting aside a sandwich for himself, he loaded a tray with neatly arranged plates, sandwiches, tea, coffee and a single daffodil in a small vase and walked down to his bedroom. He knocked quietly before softly padding into the room and placing the tray on the bedside table. Reaching over, he opened the blue, velvet curtains wide, letting in a stream of warm, golden, early morning light and bathing the two Italian's in a soft summer glow.
"Good morning! Hope you both slept well. I bought you breakfast, there's towels in the bathroom, come through to the living room when you are both ready." England greeted them in a chirpy fashion before he left the room once more to go and enjoy his own breakfast in the quiet comfort of his kitchen.
Romano groaned loudly, sat up, rubbed his eyes childishly and stretched languidly. "Tea Bastard is up way too early." He turned his attention to the tray of food and sniffed it suspiciously, the sausages looked a tad overdone but seemed edible enough. Grabbing a sandwich, he tucked in hastily and blinked in surprise, not bad for the Tea Bastard! Hurriedly, he scoffed the sausage bun, washing it down with a large mug of coffee.
Meanwhile, Italy continued to sleep, blissfully unaware of his surroundings as he contentedly snored. He was roused by a painful elbow in the rib from his unsympathetic brother, "Oi wake up and have your breakfast before it gets cold!"
"Ve...Big Brother that was mean!" Italy moaned as he rubbed his side and sat up slowly. Blinking languidly, he took a moment to take stock of his surroundings. Yawning loudly, he reached over to pick up at sandwich, pausing long enough to glance at his brother and establish that he was not dead from England's cooking. Italy was an idiot but not that much of an idiot to trust the King of Scone's creations. He munched his breakfast, only grimacing faintly. Even gourmet food did not always please the Italian, so poor England did not stand a chance. Still, the Italian appreciated the sweet gesture and could hardly turn down an offer of food when staying in England's house.
After some time, the two emerged into the lounge, both full, clean and raring to go - well Italy had fallen asleep on the sofa while his brother was in the shower but it was close enough. England was waiting for them patiently with a flip chart, on which he had inscribed the words "How to Turn Italy Rebellious". Clearing his throat to wake Italy and gain the attention of the brothers, he drew a neat bullet point.
Stage One - Dress the Part
"So then chaps, let's get this show on the road. It's time I took you both shopping."
-Hetalia-
The intrepid trio found themselves in an alternative clothing shop. The decor was dark, the music was growling and filled with more guitars, drums and noise than tune and the shop assistant had more metal pierced into his face than skin. Or so it seemed to Italy who was frankly terrified of the place and had decided to cling to big (well slightly bigger than Italy anyway), strong, scary England for protection. The Englishman blushed furiously at the contact but had the good grace to not shove the Italian off completely, deciding to pat his shoulder awkwardly instead.
"Ve...England this is scaryyy! This is more scary than you! Or your scones! Englaaaand!" Italy wailed, waving his white flag around as the Englishman sighed slightly, not too perturbed - he had brought up America after all, so this was frankly nothing.
"It's not scary, it's just different. Now come on over here." He gestured to a few clothing rails to the side, before practically dragging the Italian over. Romano trailed behind the pair, reluctantly following them whilst keeping a wary eye on the shop assistant in case he fancied an Italian on scone for breakfast. England took a moment to manoeuvre the Italian so that he stood by the clothing rail with his arms stretched out.
"Ve...ve...ve...what are you doing England?" The bewildered Italian asked.
"Just stay like that old chap." He mumbled whilst routing through the clothes. England began to pull out tops and trousers in Italy's size, most made of leather and black in colour, although some blood red and dark purple made an appearance. Carefully, he laid the clothes over the outstretched arms of the Italian, piling them high with variations on skinny leather trousers and angsty band tops. Absentmindedly, the Englishman hummed along to the metal music, betraying his love of the unusual genre.
"Eh...Tea Bastard is into these tunes?" Asked a confused Romano.
England smirked, "Let's just say I was quite the little punk in the eighties. How do you think I know about this shop?" Snatching up a tight leather jacket he dumped it onto the pile before shoving Italy off into the direction of the changing rooms. "Go try that lot on and come show me with each item." Italy dutifully trotted off as England headed over to look at fingerless leather gloves.
"I had no idea you were like that." Commented Romano as he absently flicked through a few silk dresses with skull and crossbones patterns.
England raised his eyebrow and nodded to the dresses, "I had no idea you were that way inclined." He teased lightly as the Italian jumped away from the dresses.
"Bastard! I'm not my brother..." He looked cross for a moment before they both looked at each other and started giggling in an uncharacteristic fashion, caught up in the strangeness of their unusual situation. How often do you find yourself in an alternative shop, looking to punk up a complete coward with someone who you were at war with and who is an acquaintance at best?
Italy poked his head around the changing room curtain and beamed in confusion at their laughter, before grinning inanely and joining in. Noticing him, the others turned to look at him, taking in the tight black leather jeans, the baggy, loose, black, short sleeved Avenged Sevenfold top and tight black leather jacket. England's eyes widened a little and he trotted over, a gleaming grin on him as he moved to straighten up the Italian a little.
"No slouching, you look damn good in that if I may say so. Show it off!" A nod of approval accompanied his words.
"Ve...this clothing won't be good to make white flags out of!"
"Oh you won't need to retreat with that look dear." A wicked smirk lit up his features. "Besides, the only flags you'll be make for a while are the jolly roger."
"The jolly what?" Romano piped up.
"The jolly roger! You know? Pirate skull and crossbones?" England glanced at Romano meaningfully, "I'm sure if you asked your Spain he would tell you, after all he saw it often enough back in the day."
"Ve...I don't want to be a pirate!" Italy piped up, "I get seasick."
"You won't actually be a pirate, you'll just be taking inspiration from their dress sense." England shoved him back in the changing room, "Now go try on some of those other clothes."
Several outfits later and the three came to the conclusion that leather suited Italy very well, showing off the small man's frame and making him look a lot more intimidating than his usual casual getup. They ended up leaving the shop with several pairs of leather jeans, a tight-fitting leather jacket with silver studs, two pairs of leather, fingerless gloves, various assorted t-shirts and a thick black, leather belt with silver studs. England was pleased with their haul so far and was pleasantly surprised with how well it all seemed to suit Italy, his small, petite frame and unruly hair seeming to lend itself to unusual outfits.
They chatted amicably between themselves, content with their company and seemingly relaxed with each other as they headed off to find a shoe shop. They were just about to head into a Doc Martin's shop when England's phone rang, "Rule Britannia" ringing out to alert the Englishman of his call. He picked up without checking who was on the other end and pressed his phone to his ear.
"Hello?"
"Bonjour, mon petite lapin! It is France." England pulled a face at the sound of the voice on the other end, grimacing noticeably.
"Really, thanks for telling me, I would never have worked it out from that ridiculous accent of yours."
"You're welcome mes amis, I am only here to serve."
"What do you want wanker?" England scowled, already fed up of the conversation with his long-term rival.
"I was just wondering why you were not at the meeting today? Did you finally get laid?" France spoke suggestively, making a few kissy noises into the phone as the poor Englishman turned bright red.
"Piss off and mind your own business. As it happens I am not well."
"Eat one of your own scones? I can hear a lot of traffic for someone not well."
"Yes, I am going to the doctors." The exasperated Englishman explained.
"And is Italy going with you? He isn't in the meeting either." France asked curiously, although there was a slight edge to his tone as though suggesting he knew more than he was letting on.
"How should I know? I barely know the git. Now will you piss off, I'm nearly there."
"Of course, mon petite, get well soon! I shall be around to your hotel room later to check up on you. Bye bye!"
England scowled and hung up the phone without another word before he turned to the other two, "We need to get a move on, France suspects us and it would not surprise me if Spain blabs soon." The others nodded and they disappeared into the shoe shop with renewed determination.
A/N: A bit of a longer chapter this time. What did you guys think? I've really got the writing bug again now so I feel like I'm going to reel them out. Any hints or tips about my writing would be appreciated. Thanks for your continued support. As always, I don't own Hetalia.