Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.
A/n1: I wish all of you a very merry Christmas!^^ Please enjoy these dark days with the people you love and make sure you make great memories with them. No matter how annoying family can be sometimes, I still hope you'll love to spend some time with them during this vacation!
As for me, I'll be having my grandpa and grandma over, and probably also a pretty pompous uncle (who looks like the lovechild of Joey and Chandler from Friends, by the way) and his giggly girlfriend. We'll be playing cards and watching reruns of old Christmas-movies, and in the end, my dad will have lost the game and will be angry, my mom will have stuffed us with all kinds of finger food before preparing dinner and stuffing us even more, my brothers will have a dumb fight, my uncle will say something smart-ass that will annoy the rest of the people there and his girlfriend will laugh really, really loud, while my grandparemts and I will feel like the only normal people, totally forgetting that we, too, are pretty noisy the split-second the situation calls for it.
But anyway!~
Have fun these days, okay?
A/n2: Let's immediately skip to the Wednesday Luisa talked about last week, because I honestly don't want the fic to stay still like this any longer.
Time to make some progress already!
~~ And Three Makes Five ~~
Chapter 81:
His cares are eased with intervals of bliss;
His little children, climbing for a kiss,
Welcome their father's late return at night;
His faithful bed is crown'd with chaste delight.
Virgil
(Latin poet)
'Hi. I'm *****. I'm your daughter.'
Blood started swirling around the insides of my head like a wild whirlpool, attempting to drown my brains, or heavily damage them, or at least to temporarily knock them the fuck out, as I stared at the brunette girl standing on the doorstep, right in front of me.
'That can't be.' I pulled on my shirt's collar, as if that would relieve my pressured and pained brains a bit. 'You can't be. You're just a local girl that wants some attention – you're nothing more than that!'
The girl, with uncanny, eerie green eyes and a disappointed face, didn't move a muscle. She just opened her mouth, just a little:
'I'm *****. I'm your daughter.'
'You can't be my fucking daughter!' My voice skipped and sounded high and panicked. 'I'm married to a guy! I'm a guy myself! How in shitting hell can you be a daughter of mine!'
'I'm *****. I'm your daughter,' the girl repeated once again.
I gulped, tried to calm down. 'You… you do look familiar. Those eyes are… and your face and frown, and… and voice, I guess I… I should be able to remember a girl like yo—'
'I'm *****,' the girl interrupted me. 'I'm your daughter.'
I clenched my teeth and my fists. 'Don't cut me off like that.'
'I'm *****. I'm your daughter,' the girl said.
'B-but don't you understand – I can't hear it!' Tears started to stream down my face – gently at first, but in big, desperate fucking waves later on, when the girl with the disappointed, pale face didn't even tried to help me further here.
'I'm *****. I'm your daughter.'
I hissed and looked pleadingly at her. 'W-what is it? Please tell me what it is.'
'I'm *****. I'm—'
'Just tell me.'
'I'm ***–'
'Tell me!'
'I–'
'What's your DAMN NAME already!'
The girl was silenced for a few seconds. She didn't speak a word, nor did she blink or move. But then, suddenly, a small smile appeared on her lips, and she mouthed… something…
'Wh-what?' I stammered.
The girl stopped smiling. She reluctantly mouthed the same word again, though.
'Is it your name?' I took a step forward. 'Once more – please – once more!'
But the girl had enough of it. She had lost her patience and shook her head angrily, stepping backwards.
'N-no,' I gasped. 'Don't go yet – please don't go, I'll listen to you, I will, I'll-I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, but… but you have to give me your name!'
The girl turned around and walked away, her outlines slowly disappearing in thin air.
'But don't you fucking understand!' I yelled and ran after her – but I couldn't come closer, no matter how fast I ran, 'I-I can't decide if I don't know it – I can't know it if I can't remember your name! How-how am I supposed to accept somebody whose name isn't even in my memories! Please understand! You must understand – you must!'
But she was gone, and I couldn't see anything anymore.
\0o0/
Of course, I eventually woke up from my feverish dream with a massive headache and completely soaked in my own sweat. For once, I was happy Antonio didn't hold me in his arms, like he usually did – I mean, damn, I'd have sweated all over him. Hell, I'd have fucking drowned him. Drowned him in my sweat of fear. Now that'd be just gross.
Anyway, I had been sleeping apart from Antonio for a couple of days now, so I didn't have to worry about pouring fear-sweat all over him, or barfing all over him, or even being sick in other ways all over him.
No, we didn't had a fight and it wasn't like I didn't love him anymore – I-I just had become pretty damn sick.
I don't really know how it had happened, but according to the doctor, one of the main reasons was that I simply was way too worked up about the discoveries we had made in the past few days. Plus, Italy was having some rocky financial times again and I just… well, I didn't feel good at all, nope, no good, no good…
So for almost three days now, after consulting Dr. Bossi (really, that surname – maybe I was a dipshit, but god, Bossi as a surname? What would his assistant have as a last name – Henchmanni? Oh god that was just hilarious and if I didn't feel like shit I'd be pissing myself pffffrt), I had been lying in bed, feeling extremely cranky and sick and feverish, and I suffered from a serious shortage of Antonio-vibes.
But no, no no no, Mr. South Italy, you should sleep apart from Mr. Spain for the following days, because you really are fairly weak and we don't want your condition to worse, now do we?
Who the fuck is 'we', what other assholes are you talking about, dammit, I had wanted to snap at Dr. Bossi, but Antonio told me – with sad, worried puppy eyes – to just listen to the Bossi Man and sleep apart from him for now, and he promised me to take care of me, and all would be fine, and he would be there for me, always.
…
…a-as if I doubted that, dammit.
Looking back, it probably was for the best Antonio and I didn't spend the night together anymore. Antonio wouldn't have slept a wink with me writhing and wiggling restlessly right next to him, and I wouldn't have been able to sleep either, knowing that Antonio was probably stressing the fuck out about my health and questionable condition.
Also – that dream I had last night, about a nameless girl visiting me and claiming she was my daughter? I'd been having that dream for at least a whole week now. Each and every night, I could expect at least one dream to be about that girl – the girl whose face I never saw that clearly, whose voice I never heard, and whose name remained a mystery to me, no matter what I did.
I suspected those dreams kept popping up because Antonio had decided to buy that damn book Tosca wrote – also exactly one week ago. Its big, white, scary form was now lying on the saloon table in the relaxation room, successfully keeping both Antonio and me out of the room, since we both were too fucking chicken to actually go and read Tosca's Bitch Book, as I lovingly called it.
Meanwhile, we heard more and more messages around us about other nations who had gotten people over that claimed to be their kid: Latvia had a girl visiting him just yesterday and the poor kid almost choked in his bread when the girl, a decade older than him in human years, told him during lunch she was his daughter. Hungary had been in a state of total shock ever since a guy who said he was her and Austria's son had sent her a letter, pleading to her to meet up with him.
And the Netherlands had actually been hanging out with a guy who said he was his son.
THAT'S RIGHT, THAT DUTCH BASTARD ACTUALLY BELIEVED THE ASSHOLE AND THEY FUCKING WENT SHOPPING.
But I heard England and America also had their doubts about the "son" that had visited them – doubts in favor of the "son", that is.
And France actually actively hoped a human would ring his doorbell one day with a similar story, because according to Antonio, he said 'something was just missing' from his life.
I didn't want to know.
I was scared to know.
But all those people, showing up on their supposedly parents' doorsteps not too long after Tosca had published her book and shaken up the European continent – it made one wonder just how much was lied and how much was… was true.
Still, I didn't want to know.
Because if the rumors I had heard were true – if we really had gotten kids one day, one way or another – if we really had a small family once, then… then that would mean Antonio and I had abandoned them, somewhere in the past. Regardless of the reasons why, that would be unforgivable.
Because it was ridiculous, and cruel, and because we would never, ever abandon a child.
So it had to be false. It just had to be, had to be, had to fucking be.
I wouldn't be able to live with myself otherwise.
/0o0\
When I went to the bedroom Lovino was sleeping for quite some days now, I was greeted with a tired-looking, red-eyed and grumpy Italian, sitting in the bed with a face that told me he had a rough night, once again.
He seemed to be lost in thought, but the moment he saw me, he tried to sit up a bit more decently and he even attempted to smile at me.
'A-Antonio. Hi.'
'Good-morning, sweetie.' I smiled just as faintly back at him and walked further into the room, carrying a tray containing a light breakfast. Lovino had a horrible appetite these days, he most of the time threw everything up again or had to rush to the bathroom as soon as he had eaten. Still, Lovino was slowly getting better, his doctor told us (how he could tell was a huge riddle to me), but he still was very weak and exhausted.
It was like the stress and misfortune had that struck most of us nations 20 years ago had finally caught up with him, Dr. Bossi had said: all this time, Lovino had been miraculously healthy or at least functioning as good as wanted from him, while countless countries around him suffered from all kinds of illnesses. His strong will and hardheadedness actually was bound to come back and bite him in the butt one day – and all the chaos around Tosca and her book had been the last straw, so it seemed.
One week ago, Lovino finally collapsed and stayed unconscious for two hours, before finally waking up. I can't even begin to tell you how much I've prayed and begged and wished for his condition to improve – but thankfully, according to the doctor, it looked worse than it actually was. He said Lovino's life never was in actual danger – he had just asked too much of his body and mind, and now, he had no other choice but to stay in bed and get better already. I should just take care of him and make sure he got plenty of rest and lots, lots of water.
I felt pretty useless, though.
I wanted to hold him, I-I wanted to pull him close and tell him everything was going to be alright, but no, his doctor told me that wasn't a good idea. It wasn't about what I wanted – it was about what was best for Lovino, and I could tell from his entire appearance that my Lovi didn't want me to touch him while he felt so terrible, dirty and gross, or so he had let me know when I tried to hug him the other day. I should just watch out he wouldn't vomit all over me.
It had kind of hurt me, it had.
But I understood. I know that I'd been reluctant to allow Lovi to touch me as well whenever I was in his shoes. Being sick does that with you: you just don't want people to worry too much about you, and you don't want to let your loved ones see you in a bad shape. You want to be the strong and healthy husband – not the weakling that spends most of his time squirming in bed. At least, not when you had the same personality trait Lovino and I seemed to share.
But I digressed…
'Here you go,' I said, carefully putting the tray down on Lovino's lap, and sat down on the chair statistically placed next to the bed. 'Please eat something, my love – you won't get better unless you eat something.'
'Yeah yeah, I know,' Lovino mumbled, sighing and staring at the breakfast in front of him like it was going to eat him instead. 'I-I just hope I won't… throw it all up again.'
'Just eat slowly,' I suggested.
He nodded. 'I'll try.'
He kept his word and ate slowly – very slowly. A small bite from a toast with some butter on it, a sip from a cup with hot tea, and then, he waited.
Nothing happened, thankfully enough, and he let out a sigh, one of relief this time.
'Good, good!' I said, feeling a bit more optimistic now that he held it all inside of him. 'How is it?'
'It's tasty.' Lovino's smile grew bigger. 'I-I was kind of hungry, so this is nice. Thank you, Antonio.'
'You're welcome, sweetie. Anytime.' I gathered my courage and placed a hand on top of one of his own, gripping it gently. All the other days, Lovi had frowned at that and friendly yet urgently brushed my hand off his again – but now, he acted like he hadn't noticed it and let my hand be where it was. Which was a huge improvement!
'How did you sleep?' I asked, scooting closer with my chair.
Lovino paused eating and a deep wrinkle appeared in his pale face. 'I had that dream again.'
'Oh, that nightmare about that girl?'
'That's the one.'
'I'm sorry to hear that.' I squeezed his hand some more, happy to at least be able to hold a part of him. 'But it's only a dream, you know? It's not real.'
'Yeah? I don't… I don't know about that, Antonio.' Lovi's lips got thin as he temporarily pressed them together. 'You weren't there. You didn't see and feel what I saw and felt. That girl – I swear I know her.'
My insides made a strange turn. 'You… you mean you believe her? You think she really is…?'
'Like I said, I don't know.' Lovino closed his eyes for a second, as if he tried to think about her. 'She… she looked familiar. She had your eyes.'
'Ah,' I said. What else could I say? 'Oh, that's nice, did she have your nose and mouth, then?~' I don't think so.
'But screw that – I don't feel like talking about the weird figments of my disturbing imagination.' He cleared his throat and grabbed the toast again, giving me a questioning look. 'So, any news?'
'Hmm, not really… oh! Except that Hernández' protégée is stopping by today,' I told him.
Lovino looked troubled. 'Ugh, visitors – I hate visitors.'
'You don't have to meet her. She comes for me, after all.' I smiled and watched him eat his toast. 'According to Hernández, she will have a better chance at getting a decent job when she's been my doctor for a little while.'
'But what about your actual doctor – what's his name – Nieto, right? What about him?' Lovi asked.
I shrugged. 'Dr. Nieto is a pretty decent guy, he probably won't mind it. As long as I don't fumble around with you too much, he won't mind anything I do.'
Dr. Nieto was a guy in his mid-fifties. A quirky, good doctor – but he always gave us very awkward looks whenever Lovi and I made clear we actually were married and very much in love with one another. Homosexuality could be accepted in most of Europe right now, some people, like Nieto, still felt uncomfortable around gay people. Dr. Bossi, Lovi's doctor, wasn't too enthusiastic about my and Lovi's relationship either, but he was extremely professional and it was never showed on his face he didn't approve his nation's relationship with me.
Still, he didn't like me, either, and I knew he blamed me for Lovi's sexuality.
…
Looks like the Italian Delgado had made his entrance. Ahahahaha…
'So, what – you're planning to get yourself two personal doctors?' Lovino grinned teasingly. 'You spoiled bastard.'
I grinned as well, but only because Lovi had started. 'Well, why not? If she's nice enough and doesn't shrink away in shock when she sees me holding your hand, I think she's worth a shot. I'm not saying I'm going to sack Nieto or anything – the guy has a huge family to take care of after all – but she could be his, I don't know, his intern or something?'
'That actually sounds pretty reasonable,' Lovino admitted and drank from his tea. He still hadn't barfed or jumped out of bed to sprint to the bathroom yet, so I dared to feel more relaxed. Hopefully, this was a sign of his recovery.
'You should let her meet me,' Lovino then said.
'Yes?' I blinked. 'Why?'
'Well, wouldn't it be a big chance for her? Proving she's worthy of our time by telling me what exactly is wrong with me?'
'But not even Dr. Bossi knew what's exactly wrong with you. I doubt a young girl in her twenties will know.'
He snorted. 'Damn, you're negative. At least give the chick a chance, Antonio! I bet she can't wait to demonstrate her wise-ass theories she studied at… uh… Health School.'
'Health School?' I chuckled.
'Sh-shut the fuck up, you know what I mean,' Lovino grumbled, blushing.
It was a lust for the eye to actually see his trademark: a flushed face with furrowed brows and a huffy expression that tried to hide the smile starting to form around his lips. So I got up a bit and automatically leaned over him – I didn't even take a moment to think about it.
Lovino's cheeks turned even redder and he instantly pressed himself back in his pillows. 'Wh-what are you doing...?'
At first, I thought he was politely but determinedly rejecting me, but then I noticed his eyes had gotten a bit brighter, a bit more excited, and so, I took the risk – and I took his face in my hands.
'Can I kiss you?' I softly asked, my fingers caressing his warm face. 'I-I know you're sick and all, but I can't control myself around you when you blush and act cute like that… s-so…'
Lovino's hazel eyes got even more beautiful.
'W-well, if… if you put it like that,' he mumbled, shyly looking away, 'I-I don't really have a choice, d-do I…?'
'You always have a choice.' I swiftly licked my lips. 'Always.'
'Don't lie, asshole, you totally licked your lips just now!'
'…um.'
'You're SO expecting me to cave.'
'…and will you?'
Lovino groaned, put away the tray on his lap and suddenly – and roughly – grabbed the front of my shirt.
'O-of course, you-you fucking bastard…'
He abruptly pulled me closer, making our lips, mouth and teeth collide fairly aggressively. But the longer I kissed him, the more I managed to wrap my arms around him, and the more his – trembling – hands touched and clawed at my neck in sweet, desperate longing, the more amazing the feeling of finally kissing and tasting each other once again became.
Especially because we both at that moment instantly realized that he was getting better now. He-he didn't throw up or rush to the toilet, he wanted to eat and drink and he let me kiss and hold him – he really was getting better now!
Nothing could ruin this day now anymore – absolutely nothing!
o\00/
So I got out of the bus, patted my black skirt to get the sit-wrinkles out of it and froze, right on the fucking spot, as I stared at the big, impressive House on the left, a few dozen meters away from the bus stop where the bus had pulled over.
Also, on the right side, that much-smaller house must have been Raquel's.
Ohh.
Nice. To know, I mean. Very nice. Yes.
…
…
I…
For the past couple of days, I had been…
…
Doing… stuff.
I had flipped through many of Ángel's difficult, academic books about… well, all kinds of sicknesses, the human anatomy, the Latin names of… body parts and shit, and… medicine-thingies… but…
… I hadn't actually studied or do as much as remember anything out of those books.
I had tried to, really, in the beginning, I had actively tried to print every single possible-important, posh word in my mind, but it was no use. The books I had to read weren't even written in Spanish, let alone Italian – they were all English. My English wasn't that great – I could speak and understand spoken words alright, I admit, but I couldn't really read or write it – so it was a miracle I at the very least had been able to discover what the damn books at least were about.
On the third day, Stefano and Ángel said I should take a break from studying already, and I did, and I never touched those damn books again that week. Or that year. Or this very life.
But don't think I just chilled out the remainder of the week: no, instead of trying to suffocate my brains with hard words I couldn't even pronounce, my dads and I practiced at presenting myself as an actual doctor.
'You're allowed to make mistakes, of course,' Ángel had reassured me, 'they're both no doctors, so as long as you put up a face that says "I know what I'm talking about so shhhhh", both Mr. Spain as Mr. South Italy won't doubt your knowledge and intelligence. I respect them very much, mind you, but they're both pretty gullible when it's about stuff they don't understand.'
'That explains why Matteo keeps buying things he doesn't need,' I had snorted at that.
'And it explains why you dress yourself like a scarecrow-door,' Alejo – who had helped me on one of those days as well – had said, right before I chuckled and kindly kicked his ankles.
I liked acting, so I can't say that practicing this role as a girl who wanted to become a doctor and who had just graduated from the University wasn't at least a little bit fun. My family advised me to talk as politely and as wise-ass-y as I could, to keep beaming small, dignified smiles to all the human beings around me and to keep my head held up high.
'You look very confident that way,' Matteo had explained on the day he, too, had been at our fathers' place to support me. 'Confidence is the key to make a good first impression.'
'And make eye-contact!' Raquel – yes, of course she was there as well – had advised, trying to keep a very happy-looking Mia on her lap. 'But not too long – people apparently feel uncomfortable if you look them in the eye for too long. I wonder why.'
Alejo, who obviously had no life, nodded. 'So, in other words, dearest sister: purse your lips, push your tits forward and your ass backwards, and you will look and walk like a duck. I guarantee you success.'
'I'm trying to come over as a professional doctor-in-training, Alejo, not as a sleazy girl that wants to get into their pants,' I had remarked at that.
Alejo had tssk!-ed at that. 'Fine, have it your way. It always works for me in difficult situations, but okay, whatever, suit yourself.'
The final days before… well… Wednesday, were harder, for some reason.
No, not some reason – I knew what the reason was. Meeting up with my parents for the first time in 20 years, while knowing they wouldn't recognize me and knowing it was up to me to convince them they actually were the lucky parents of not one, not two, but three wonderfully beautiful children, didn't exactly sound like a very easy, breezy thing to do.
A lot was resting on my shoulders. I was fully aware of that. Hell, I almost was more aware of the burden resting on my shoulder than I was of the baby growing inside of me – and my fathers both pointed out that whatever the outcome of The Scheme would be, I should definitely try and think about my baby and myself better afterwards.
And I had promised them I would, because they were right, as parents almost always are right.
But in spite of all my stress and internal conflicts about Papa Lovi and Papa Toni, I did feel more confident about what the outcome would be than a few days earlier. The fact that my dads, brothers and even my sis-in-law and niece supported me so affectionately helped, just as the fact that Seb had actually successfully met his Dutch father.
I swear, when I stared at that picture he sent me via his phone, starring both his own as the Netherlands' bland, unmoving faces and their stupidly held-up peace-signs, my first reaction was to laugh out loud until my stomach started to ache, until tears dripped over my cheeks – I was so happy for him, and so relieved to see the prove of what Seb himself had told me before: it was possible to convince personifications of your existence as their child.
It was! It actually was!
So yes – although the final days were difficult, I did feel more confident about the outcome of The Scheme.
And I kept feeling that way – until I stepped out of the bus, far away from my family, and yet, at the same time, so extremely nearby it hurt.
I looked at the giant House I vaguely remembered from my past and felt the nametag around my neck pressing against my skin.
W-well.
...
I-I guess it was up to me, now…
o\00/
A little while later, I found myself gawking at the front door.
It felt so surreal. One moment I was in the bus, and the next moment, I suddenly stood right on their doorstep, freaking the hell out about… about… well, what was it that didn't freak me out right now, really?
I took in a deep, cold breath of air, even though the weather was wonderful and the air gentle.
Oh god, this was really happening I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS WAS ACTUALLY—
Okay, stay calm.
Stay calm.
Stay. Calm.
Stay calm stay calm stay calm.
Okay.
I breathed in, breathed out, breathed in and breathed out again – and then I swiftly rang the doorbell, before I could change my mind. Like pulling off a bandage: quick and painful but very much wanted and needed.
The doorbell went like
Ding-dong-ding dong… dong-ding-ding-dong!~
or something like that and everything that was located in my chest – organs, bones, whatever – bounced around like fleas when the hard and annoying doorbell disturbed the comfortable silence in this area.
This was it, now. No way back. This way or the highway. If I still wanted to run away and give up, I had to do it now, because there wouldn't be a second chance. If I still felt unsure or not completely sure about if I was well-prepared or not, I had to go NOW, right NOW because the second that door would swing open, the very motherfucking MOMENT I'd look into one of my fathers' faces, it all was ready and set. And I have no idea what I mean with that, I haven't got a clue whatsoever, but oh god, oh god oh god oh god, can you really blame me, were that footsteps I hear—
Click.
All of a sudden, abruptly, sneakily almost, the front door started to move. It was opened, in a casual, none-too-special fashion, but you bet I'd remember each and every movement of that door – every sound it made, every inch it moved backwards, every shadow that was casted on the door and that was somehow moved by the door's owner's actions.
And then, a face.
'Good-morning! You're here early.'
I breathed out, strangely, slowly and shakily. A Spanish man appeared, with my brothers' dark, messy hair, my brothers' large smile and my brothers' ever-present curiosity, looked at me with the exact same eyes I saw whenever I looked into the mirror.
'You're a smart little lady, aren't you?~'
Papa Toni.
/0o0\
I tilted my head a bit when the young lady on the doorstep kept breathing in and out quite heavily, as if she had been running for a very long time.
'Um… miss? Are you okay?'
I couldn't help but smile while looking at her. She looked cute, in a surprisingly childish way, with her big, green eyes, brown, wavy hair and carefully prepared clothes – I mean, I might be a total nitwit when it was about fashion, but I could easily tell when a person had been trying hard to pick out some nice clothes, like, for an interview or something like that… and I guess this meeting was something of an interview for the girl.
No wonder she was stressed out of mind! I'd better make sure she felt more comfortable as soon as possible – I wouldn't want the poor girl to get a heart attack or something.
'Please come in,' I started, ignoring how the girl jumped at that, and stepped aside. 'I prepared some tea and coffee, but I could also get you something else if you want to. It's pretty hot weather, after all.'
'Y-yes,' was all the girl stammered – and after having stared at my face one more time, she averted her eyes and hastily went into the House.
I blinked and watched her stumbling around in the hallway, staring at certain object with big, amazed eyes and almost accidentally bumping into some vases and an old cabinet.
'Oh – s-sorry, sorry! I-I didn't see that… that thing,' she stuttered, grabbing a plant she never even touched with both of her pale hands. That caused another plant to fall right over – but while the girl shrieked and rattled a few more apologies, I simply caught the vase in time and pulled her away from the breakable objects at almost the same time.
'You're so jumpy and nervous!' I chuckled as she instantly looked up at me with an expression I couldn't really place. 'Why is that – did Hernández talk so badly about me? I'm a good guy, you know? I may be different from ordinary people, but believe me – I'm nice!~'
'I-I know you are,' the girl softly responded, casting her eyes down again.
I frowned and studied her figure. The girl still seemed pretty anxious about something. I wonder what it was? Oh, maybe she was one of those people – one of those people who worked and studied really hard, but still were afraid to fail. I always felt a bit sorry for those people. They tried so hard, and yet, it was never enough for them. They constantly had to prove themselves to… well, themselves, and everybody knows how hard it is to prove yourself worthy to yourself.
'Now, why don't you go to the relaxation room – it's that room to your—'
'To the left,' the girl cut me off. 'I-it's the room… to the left. That one. R-right?'
'Nice guess!' I smiled, a bit impressed. 'But no. It's the room right next to it. You were almost right, though!'
She opened her mouth, but then closed it again. Her forehead wrinkled, and now that I spotted that change of mood, her face suddenly reminded me of Lovino, whenever he was huffy about something. She looked a lot like him, I realized, and I wondered if she had some Italian roots.
'What's your name?' I asked as I directed her to the relaxation room.
'M-my name?' the girl said, sitting down on in of the couches. 'O-Oh. R-right, my name's Lu…go.'
'Lugo?' That was a Spanish surname, I knew.
'Y-yes, Lugo.' The girl nodded, as if she was agreeing on something with herself, and put some hair behind her ear. 'I'm miss Lugo. I'm glad to finally meet you, Mr. Spain.'
I smiled at her. 'Likewise, miss Lugo.'
Ah, she finally seemed to calm down a bit, which was a relief. I wouldn't want anybody to feel awkward at my House, certainly not somebody who was hoping to get more experience as a doctor here.
'Can I get you something to dri—'
'Where's Mr. South Ita—'
We both stopped talking just as rapidly as we had started our question to the other. Miss Lugo flushed embarrassedly while I laughed and leaned on the back on the couch.
'No no, it's alright, you can go first!' I assured her. 'You asked about Mr. South Italy, I think?'
'Y-yes,' the young doctor said, her cheeks still fire-red as she glanced around this room as well. 'I-I wanted to meet him as well, since he's… y-you know… y-your partner and everything, and… and I'd like to see the two of you.'
I nodded understandingly. 'He'll be here in a second, he wanted to meet you as well.'
'H-he did?' Miss Lugo sat up a bit more and a smile almost broke through on her still very Italian-looking face.
'You should smile, you know?' I friendly advised her. 'You'll look even more endearing when you do that, I'm sure!~'
'No I won't,' the girl replied, surprisingly/amusingly grumpy, before silently coming her fingers through her bushy hair. Then, her face got a troubled expression upon realizing she had snapped at me. She cleared her throat, but didn't dare to look at me as she corrected herself.
'Um, I-I meant to say… th-that is… I… I don't think so, Mr. Spain. My smiles are very average. I-I apologize for… for nagging at you like that…'
But it was too late for that, really – I had seen it, the nervous girl did have some spunk in her.
Nice! Looks like I underestimated her. I couldn't help but grin a bit, really, when I watched her sit like that, with her neat clothes, her little purse, her hair all over the place, her face pouting and stern, and that voice of hers, that moody, demonstrative voice, it was-
'N-no! You can't carry me! You're a dumb papa, dammit!'
I stopped smiling.