Wiktor: I just got the Illicitly remix of Trumpets by Jason Derulo on CD and I am so happy. That is one of my favorite songs; it is so fun and oddly inspirational. Now I can listen on my CD player whenever I want, instead of having to wait for it to come onto the radio. I am ridiculous sometimes. *laughs* Heads up! This will be a long chapter, so I hope you enjoy.
**This chapter was edited. I apologize for my English mistakes, but I have caught them and fixed them.
-To my reviewer friends:Thank you all for your continued support. Bea; I will have to check out that pairing. I have honestly never heard of it, and it sounds interesting. If I can come up with a few ideas I may write for it as well. XiangXu; Some Germans are weird like that. I don't really switch to English unless I am asked to, but a lot have this weird "obligation" they feel to switch to English, which I find funny sometimes. I usually only switch for my roommate, a foreign exchange student from the United States who is learning German. The Night Actor; I'm glad you're still enjoying my piece. I will try to update quickly, as I work around my job as a tour guide and violinist in the local orchestra and the hours can be long and tiring. Crack ships are definitely the best; if you couldn't tell by now, I adore them all. Everyone; Thank you for your kind words; they are appreciated more than you know. I hope you enjoy this next chapter, and please continue to post reviews. Danke.
The previous night had left America's advisors in a fit of anger. Both felt equally betrayed that their boss would have lied to them about his motives, and initially refused transport back across the city. Of course, their hotel wasn't far from America's destination, but their pride and trust had been stolen away. However, with some begging and promise of an extended Christmas leave, America was able to convince them to finally drive him and his luggage back to Austria's home.
"Why does he want you here so early?" The driver asked, squinting through the snow. "The roads haven't been cleared yet."
America shrugged and wiped the condensation from the back window, watching the sidewalks gradually fill with early morning workers, bundled against the cold and out to make their grudging morning commute. Street performers with brooms swept their claimed corners, pushing hefty piles of snow out into the street to make way for their various music and entertainment pieces. A young girl and her brother danced a bouncy duet for a small group of wandering tourists out for an early breakfast as an elderly man sung out a boisterous Austrian folk song, all the while playing away on a long since worn violin. America smiled when the tourists clapped excitedly and threw change for the children, who linked arms and bowed, scooping up the money and presented it blissfully to the older gentleman, who must have been their grandfather. There were troves of business men with cases and black polished shoes, taking care to avoid ice patches and running through their work schedules to themselves, as couples ventured hand in hand to small cafes dotting the block. The Austrian public seemed so kind and jovial, once you got past their initial criticism of practically everything. Once he thought about it, they weren't all that different from America's own population.
"So, what exactly will you be doing here for two weeks?" The driver asked, reaching down and taking a sip of coffee from his mug.
"Adam, I told you last night, it's political business." America explained in hope that he would stop pestering him with questions.
"Political business? What kind of business do you have? You never mentioned any of this before."
"Shut up, David." America turned to the passenger seat where his friend sat.
David shook his head and gave a small half smile. "You're pitiful, you know that?" He kidded. "If you want to hang out with Austria, all you have to do is say so."
"Yeah, Jones." Adam chimed in, joining the light onslaught.
America narrowed his eyes. "Come on, guys! You know that's not what it is!" He snapped. It was just like the two of them to push his buttons, and his buttons were tremendously difficult to find. Still, with Adam and David in the car, they always found a way to shoot through America's fun loving suit of armor.
Adam chuckled and rounded the block. "We're just messing with you. But in all seriousness, why are you staying?" He questioned, authenticity returning to his tone.
America paused. He had to tell them why; it's not like he could make up another anecdote at this point. Adam and David were prepared for his fakery after finding out he had lied about Fiji, and would see right through any masquerade he put on no matter how effectual or faultless it was. After some contemplation, he spoke.
"You can't laugh." America warned, jabbing a finger at both of them. "Promise?"
The two exchanged a look of mystification, before nodding. David turned around in his seat to listen, while Adam continued to watch the slick streets, occasionally glancing back at America from the front mirror, a look of wonder on his face.
Reassured, America began. "Ok, last night I really, really, liked Austria's song on the piano. He's awesome at improvising and I really want to learn how to read sheet music so I can play that well too." He clarified, once again wiping the fogged window clean with the sleeve of his flannel jacket. "I offered to pay him if he taught me, and then he just invited me to stay at his house, which was a little weird. I'm sorta glad though. I'm paying him all the money I have left with me after renting out our hotel room, so there's no way that I would have been able to stay there without calling in for a new balance-"
A stifled laugh cut him off and he frowned, furrowing his brow as David threw a hand over his mouth, body wracked with intense hilarity and whole body straining to double over the seatbelt fastening him in place.
"Oh my God!" He hooted. "You're staying for that? Shit man, Jones has gone soft on us! What? You're gonna go marry Beethoven? Be sure to bring a signer*!" (*person who knows sign language).
America felt his face smolder in a deadly mix of pure humiliation and fury. "I told you not to laugh! And don't you dare say anything to anyone else!" He growled.
From the driver's seat, Adam took deep trembling breaths and kept his mouth clamped shut. Tears of laughter formed at the corners of his eyes as he reached up and wiped them away with his gloves, staining the faux leather in small dark patches. When he could no longer hold it, he pulled to the curb and exploded in a fit, smacking at the steering wheel with his open palm as he howled in accord with David. The two were being completely insensitive, spouting out inarticulate syllables to one another and flailing around the front as though they were primary school children hearing a naughty joke for the first time.
"You know what? Forget you guys!" America mumbled, unbuckling his seatbelt when Adam pulled the car around the front of Austria's home. "I don't even care what you think." He fibbed, grabbing for his two suitcases and throwing the door open.
David swallowed and willed himself to calm. "Oh, come on, Jones." He groaned and rubbed at his collar, still laughing a little but feeling a bit terrible for having joked at his friend's expense. "We didn't mean it like that."
America sighed and shook his head. "Whatever. I'll see you in two weeks." He mumbled once more, stepping out into the growing sunrise.
This is stupid. He thought, slogging through the snow, over the curb, and across the long sandstone footpath. Adam and David are stupid. I bet I'll become the best piano player in the world and they just don't know it yet. I'll totally get more money than they'll ever get for their retirement then. That'll show them. He pouted to himself, pulling his suitcase up the squat porch step. He coughed in the bitter air and rapped on the door, hearing the car finally pull away.
For a long while, no one met him outside, and his fingers were beginning to chill. America raised a hand and knocked again, this time louder, wondering if anyone was even awake at this hour. Finally, the faint resonance of rubber soles on wood reverberated through the thick door, followed by the sound of hefty latches being unlocked. The door swung open with a soft creak, revealing the same dark headed man from the previous evening; only now he wasn't near as hysterical. He appeared just as fatigued as when America had left him, with dark bags behind his round silver glasses and a surprisingly hollow face for his fairly young age. He didn't smile but instead scrutinized America's expression swiftly, and then moved to his luggage, running his hands over the casing in a security check, before moving back to his original stiff position with a sniff.
"Good morning." He addressed in a monotone accent. "I am Burkhart. I will be assisting you."
America felt as though he were at a restaurant. All that was missing was a bill of fare…and lively service.
"Thanks!" America replied contentedly, grabbing his things and following, stopping to wipe his feet out of civility. "Did you get everything fixed from last night?" He asked, trying to form polite conversation.
Burkhart took America's bags from him, nearly stumbling under the burden of the heavy parcels, before gaining a steady toehold. "Yes, Sir." He responded, catching his breath.
America nodded at Burkhart's minimalism. It was almost refreshing to meet someone who would let him ask whatever he wished without a snobbish disapproving comment tossed in at the end out of spite.
"You don't have to call me Sir." America chuckled, stretching and following the struggling helper as he lead America into places of the profound home he had not yet ventured; he had never been allowed to wander about before. "You can call me Alfred," he suggested, "or America if we want to be formal."
A small beam peaked on Burkhart's pale face. "Yes, Master Alfred." He answered back, reverting to the primness that America had been trying to get him to circumvent.
It wasn't his fault, America had determined, admiring the decor of the newly discovered wing. He was probably groomed to be this way, grammatically correct and with posture as stiff as a board. He stopped, careful not to make a disturbance in the hallway, and examined the array of crimson and white Austrian banners draped from the rafters and staggered with the utmost care and precision. They were absolutely enormous, each one adorning the famed national crest of the rising eagle. Burkhart turned around, noticing America's endeavors and stopped, placing the suitcases to the side.
"Each one was needled by hand." He pointed out, gesturing to the massive banners. "Master takes great pride in funding Austrian made products."
America was astounded. Why hadn't he thought of that? That bastard, China, created many of his goods. Sure, they were all cheap and easy to import, but the debt hanging over his head was enough stress to kill a man.
"They're all so big! How long would it take to make one of these?" He inquired. Maybe he should look into this as an alternative; every United States flag crafted by the hands of an American. A hot American. No, a hot American woman wearing a spangled bikini at the base of the Statue of Liberty. If he was going to be nationalistic about this, he might as well go the whole nine yards.
Burkhart pondered the question. "I'm not sure. These were crafted far before the birth of my generation, so I have never known." He said back.
America nodded slowly, soaking in whatever he could. He turned back to the wood paneling on the wall and noticed the countless portraits, each one hand painted, of Austria and his various leaders, military personnel, and former territories. America could tell that they were far past dated from the choice of attire; formal and tight for both the men and the women, with nearly every inch of skin concealed and awkward brass accents. America caught sight of a particularly interesting piece and noticed that Austria was younger, but wore the same expression as America had always seen him, with a more teen-like arrogance to his mannerisms. The woman resting charmingly in the sophisticated chair next to him, however, America could not distinguish. She was dazzling yet ashen, a minute twinge of pink brushed upon her apple-like cheeks. Her bust had been pushed up a considerable amount by the suffocating royal blue corset cinched tightly around her middle, and her golden hair pulled back in an elaborate set of finger waves and curls. She was quite a striking young woman with a thin smile, dainty fingers resting atop Austria's outstretched hand in a demonstration of stately poise. Though Austria looked virtually unchanged, America noticed that appeared to be in much better health. It might have just been the artist's rendition, but he certainly didn't look as gaunt as he was nowadays.
"Hey, who's this?" America asked out of curiosity, examining the painting further. "Was this one of Austria's wives? I don't remember him ever talking about this one."
Burkhart sighed and shook his head. "Now I realize why Master was irritated with your questioning. It's never ending." He glanced at the portrait, adjusting his glasses with a tiny sniff and short, but conceited, laugh. "Did you ask if Her Grace was his wife?"
America cocked his head. "Sorry, was I wrong?"
"Completely!" Burkhart said breathlessly, moving his hands behind his back. "As a State, I would expect you to have some knowledge of our history before staying with us." He cleared his throat. "This is Maria Theresa. She was the sole female ruler of the House of Habsburg, and the last of Master's to be exact. She was also crowned Holy Roman Empress." He recalled slowly. "She was a brave woman, and Master Edelstein talks highly of her still, though he has often said she never listened to him. She had even lost territory to the Prussian Empire and tried to gain it back through a great war. Of course, she ultimately lost, but still, Master continued to take her hand as though it had never happened."
America thought the name sounded familiar. He honestly didn't know much about Maria Theresa but hey, you learn something new every day.
"Speaking of Austria," he frowned, "I was kinda expecting him to meet me at the door. Not that you're a problem." He added quickly, hoping to not offend Burkhart.
Burkhart clapped his hands together before once again retrieving America's hefty luggage and trudging further down the corridor. "Ah, yes. Please refrain from making noise. Our Master is roomed two doors down from yours, and loves to take part in late mornings." He stopped at America's door, and pointed two doors down in a whisper.
"Wait, what time does he get up?" America raised an eyebrow. "I could have slept in if I knew he was going to!" He wasn't angry about it; at least now he would have some time to explore. He just wasn't sure if Austria had intentionally tried to irritate him, or not.
Burkhart winced and drew a spidery finger to his lips. "Please, be quiet!" He hissed. "Now, this will be your room for your stay. There is a restroom in the neighboring corridor, and a stairwell leading up to Master's private writing quarters at the end of the hallway. Do not go unless invited. If you need me, I will be downstairs preparing to create this morning's shopping list and by all means, feel free to see your way around."
America gave a small smile and a nod of understanding before Burkhart turned briskly on his heel and took off. When America entered his room, he threw his things aside and snooped around a bit. The curtains hung open to reveal the extensive snow-covered commons outside, dotted by a few imported evergreen trees. The bed was of fair size, to which America quickly greeted with a belly flop, soaking in the wonderful scent of freshly made bedding. Besides that, there wasn't much else; just a small silver clock atop a simple end table, and an unfilled chest of drawers huddled in the corner.
America buried his face in the soft velvety comforter. He hadn't realized how high maintenance Austria truly was. Do this, don't do that, and all of these rules from people he had hardly met. He wished there was a complaints box, because America would fill it to the brim. He glanced over at the clock; 8:00 in the morning. He began to wonder how late of a sleeper Austria was. Suddenly, he sat up. No! He was paying Austria to teach him, not to sleep the day away. Of course, he probably wouldn't mind if America woke him up a tiny bit earlier today, or at least he shouldn't anyway. Without thinking of the possible consequences of his actions, America hopped up and half skipped back out into the hallway, making sure that no workers were in sight, before darting out and leaving the door open wide. He was pretty sure this wouldn't be a problem; as a child he would wake England up early all the time and had never gotten in trouble, so this couldn't be all that different.
He stopped at Austria's door, wondering if he should knock or let himself in but, after some internal debate, decided to meet himself in the middle, knocking once then unhurriedly turning the knob. He had no idea how Austria was even still asleep, what with all the clear radiance flooding in through the window panes and the boiling temperature of the room. It hit America in the face like a blast furnace and caused him to nearly collapse to the floor. He would have to endure, America told himself, but this was like his station in Kuwait all over again; only without all of the sand and body armor.
Austria's room wasn't much more elaborate than America's. It hosted the exact same layout in uniform exactitude, only with a few more pictures hung here and there against the neutral walls. Once again, America couldn't recognize many of them, now with the exception of Maria Theresa. He swallowed thickly and held his breath, bending and slipping himself out of his shoes, a little tip he had learned from his brother when the two went creeping around the house as teens, and tiptoed lightly across the floorboards, stopping to hover directly over the edge of the bed. Austria had curled up into a ball and tangled himself in several layers of dense blankets, snoring lightly. America nearly laughed; he looked like a wreck…and it was very entertaining. He had never seen Austria in a state as natural as this and, he was pretty sure, not many others had either. At the thought, America was beginning to second guess his decision of waking him up; Austria would surely murder him knowing he had seen him so informal. Still, America couldn't bring himself to leave just yet. He was far too busy savoring this rare and laughably ridiculous moment. Austria had wrapped himself around a pillow, hugging and clutching at it as though it were a sibling leaving for University, burying his face into the soft fabric as he breathed melodiously. America wasn't sure how to feel about the way he looked like that. It was creepy and unsettling to view his dark hair in such a disheveled fashion, bangs strewn across his insipid face as they were. America blinked and leaned down further, reaching into his back pocket to retrieve his phone. Austria was so flush and appeared as delicate as the china he drank from; America just couldn't resist. He bit his lip to keep from giggling, slowly scrolling through his phone for the camera and, careful to turn of the flash, stepped back a few feet before snapping a picture. This was absolute gold.
This is way too perfect. He laughed internally. Who knows? Maybe such a picture would come in handy someday, or just serve as the center of a drunken party. Probably the second one.
America leaped in his socks when Austria mumbled something, rolling over and giving a stretch before drifting back off into his ever deepening slumber. America quickly powered down his phone and shoved it back into his pocket, smiling and leaping back forward, crouching at the edge of the bed.
"Psst!" He whispered. "Austria? I'm ready to play the piano now."
Fully expecting a response and getting none, America tried again, raising a hand at a snail's pace. "Austria?" He hissed, slowly moving in and brushing his hair gently out of his face with the back of his hand before freezing and giving a slow blink. Boy, did he look different without his glasses. He wasn't unrecognizable; just…different. He entered conflict with himself, but America was fairly sure that he meant that in a good way, maybe. This was the first time that he could see Austria's face as clearly as this; the soft definition of his jaw line and cheeks. He was almost, dare he say, sort of sweet. America gave a curt huff and quickly withdrew his palm, letting Austria's hair fall back into place. What was he thinking? Austria was conceited, self absorbed, and bothersome. There was nothing cute about that! Not in the slightest.
Pushing the disturbing thought as far as he could from his mind, he nudged the bed. "Hey, get up. I've been waiting for you to teach me stuff!" He said impatiently, abandoning his effort to remain silent.
At the noise Austria rolled over and stretched sluggishly, slowly opening his eyes and looking America up and down blearily, somewhat bemused to see him standing without shoes in the middle of his bedroom.
"Cool! You're awake." America bounced eagerly. "Come on let's go!" He urged, this time nudging Austria lightly in the shoulder.
Austria frowned and brushed America away with a sharp flick of the wrist, sitting and exhaling before leaning over and resting his forehead in his palms. As far as America could tell, his hunch was right; Austria wasn't all that angry with the fact he had been wandering about, just stuck in a lethargic stupor. He looked up, glancing at the clock before shaking his head.
"You are unbelievable," He mumbled, slightly annoyed, "waking me up at this ungodly hour." He slung his feet over the edge of the bed and yawned, reaching for his glasses from the table and combing his thin fingers through his messy hair. "This is completely uncalled for! I do not want to see you in here every morning! You cannot stay if you are!"
America rolled his eyes. "Come on, it's like eight thirty! What time do you usually get up?"
Austria disregarded him, standing and crossing to the window, admiring the beautiful blanked of untouched snow of the courtyard. "Is it cold?" He asked plainly.
"I guess…" America answered, a bit taken aback. What did that have to do with anything? "Look, if you want to eat breakfast or something, I can unpack and meet you downstairs."
"I choose not to eat breakfast." Austria explained hastily, turning and forming awkward eye contact with the other country, before quickly breaking it and changing the subject. "We can start your lessons after my morning routine."
America nodded, raising no objection. He didn't want to be a poor house guest. "Sure! Anything I can help you get done?"
Almost immediately, Austria nodded. "As a matter of fact, yes. You may help me with my shopping."
America scrunched up his face and made a noise of restlessness. He was hoping to not go out into the city. It was freezing, grey, and the streets had probably not been swept, meaning he was to be trudging along through the snow. "Ugh, that sucks! Isn't there anything more fun that we could do?" He whined.
Austria shot him a fierce look like a teacher catching a student cheating on an exam. "You are staying here, correct?"
"Yes."
"Then you are obligated to help in exchange for my services."
"I'm already paying you enough, though!"
"Would you rather leave?"
America crossed his arms. He knew his inflexible nature would clash with Austria's; he just knew it would. There was no way to get around this either, as long as Austria had a bounty hanging over his head. After all, they both knew that America was staying in Vienna in secret and, if word leaked to the other countries, he would surely get a lot of grief from Europe as a whole. More specifically, his elder brother. That was the last thing he wanted; to throw England fuel to harass him with.
"Okay, okay." He agreed, pausing. "I think your friend was making a list downstairs. At least that's what he told me." He pointed out, referring to Burkhart. "He was pretty chill; helped me with my bags."
Austria smiled a bit and motioned for America to turn around with a finger, making him a bit uncomfortable. "I like to hear that my staff is doing well." He riposted, keeping vigilant watch to make sure America wasn't going to turn back around before removing his night shirt.
"Mhm," was all America could think to say, wringing his fingers edgily and tugging a bit at the cuffs of his long sleeves at the sound of clothing rustling. He wasn't yet used to the fact that Austria did whatever he wanted, when he wanted to do it. Of course, it was his house and he was seldom told 'no' by hardly anyone, but his sheer lack of emotional and physical consideration for others made him a master at making both countries and humans feel ill at ease. America felt the dreadful itch to leave when he heard Austria padding barefoot to his dresser and tugging it open with an abrasive creak. He coughed and took a deep breath, swallowing several times in the silence, desperate to find something else to focus on rather than the fact that his teacher and colleague was most likely naked behind him.
"Um, I found some composers I like." He stumbled, trying to take the gaucheness of the situation out of his stomach.
"Oh? Who might that be?" Austria asked, intrigued.
America cleared his throat, continuing to fiddle with his hands. "I got online and listened to a bunch of stuff last night after everyone else went to bed to get a feel for some of this kind of stuff, and I sorta liked Bach and Schubert."
There was a brief silence. "Which Bach?" Austria finally retorted.
America blinked. Shit, was there more than one? "What do you mean?" He sprung up and jumped a little when Austria strutted around to face him, fully clothed in a well-designed black dress coat. He fiddled with the tiny silver buttons a moment then restated his question, this time in more detail.
"Do you know the difference? There were three composers by the name of Bach. One wrote in the Baroque period and two in the Classical period." He explained in a matter-of-fact tone, as though America should have already known.
America glanced down. Austria was slightly shorter than he was but, then again, once he had his shoes on they would raise him to at least eye level. His short stature was almost derisory, however, making it sort of hard for America to fully take him seriously.
"I didn't know there were three." He responded with a small smirk. "Honestly."
"Ridiculous. You have more to learn than I thought." Austria sighed, glancing around for his maroon snow boots and spotting them at the foot of the bed.
America shrugged, apathetic. "Duh, that's why I'm here." He gradually trailed off when he noticed Austria stoop down, taking hold of the tops of his laced boots. He hadn't yet styled his hair in the usual polished technique, giving him a mysterious yet messy, wind whipped atmosphere. America was stunned to find himself rather let down when Austria sat, expertly laced up his boots, and immediately slicked his hair with his fingers. If only he would wear his hair down more often; it provided a nice edgy contrast to his round face and deep eye color. He felt his throat catch and his heart skip a beat when Austria's gaze snapped back up, frowning and unenthused as he noticed America's rigid, yet vacant, gawk. America felt himself stiffen when he realized what he was doing, willing his mind to quit whatever convoluted display he had somehow pulled himself into, and trying to dispose of the probably idiotic smile that was pasted to his face.
Austria stood and crossed his hands in a poised display across the front of his cashmere coat, waiting for his new student to regain his senses. "You shoes." He pointed to the floor and pursed his lips.
America nearly gasped and blinked a few times. He had almost forgotten about his sneakers, bending and fumbling to pick them up as he tried to fight off the grin peaking on his face. "Sorry." He replied swiftly. He needed to stop this absurd thinking, though he very well couldn't put an end to it if he didn't know where it had come from in the first place, or what it was really about. There was no rationality to his thought, and it was thoroughly puzzling. He had never been interested by Austria in any respects before, so why the hell now? He wasn't even sure what it was that kept bringing his attention back. America was almost always blissfully unaware of what was going on, but now he wished he understood, or this was going to be a dreadfully long two weeks.
"Thank you." Austria mouthed sarcastically, pushing past him and stopping in the doorway. "Don't forget a coat."
Wiktor: Good God, that was long. I'm so sorry. I hope you enjoyed what I have written, and please review if you read. Danke.
