Author's Note: One last bit before the actual football game. The next part might take a while though. In the meantime, there's a fanart of Gilbert, Ludwig and Arthur wearing their home kits posted at my profile page. Hope that would tide you over until I get the next part posted up on the site. Enjoy.


Of Family, Friends and Football

Part Six: Azzurri

It was a rather odd feeling, coming home early from work. Ludwig could not remember when was the last time he did that. But miraculously enough, he had managed to finish all of his paperwork for the day, plus his boss had waved him off with a smile and told him to 'go home and enjoy the weekend' when he asked if there was anything else that needed to be done.

So here he was at the dinner table with his teammates, after the final football practice for the big match the next day. Gilbert had been pleased that he was able to put an extra hour into practice, and so was Arthur. Arthur had even decided to check himself in a nearby hotel for the night instead of going home, since he did not want to risk being late for the game tomorrow. Ludwig had offered the man the guest bedroom, but Arthur had respectfully declined and said that he did not want to impose.

"Well then," Ludwig said calmly to the two men in his company, "do we have an actual strategy for the game tomorrow?"

"What, a battle plan? Of course we do, West," Gilbert answered with that infuriating oh-so-superior smirk, "but we're not telling you."

"What?"

"It's a secret!"

Ludwig stared at his brother in disbelief. "What do you mean, it's a secret? That's just ridiculous – how am I supposed to play tomorrow if I don't know what's the team strategy?"

"Look, West, just trust your awesome big brother to save the day – argh!"

Arthur must have given Gilbert a very sharp and painful jab or kick under the table, for his brother was glaring at the final member of the team. "What Gilbert means is," Arthur said calmly, ignoring the Prussian's muffled cursing, "we can't tell you about it right now due to – um, certain security issues. But we will later, once we've taken care of a few things."

"Security issues?"

"I have it on very good authority that there will be an attempt – or even several attempts – to solicit our team strategy tonight. Therefore, any disclosure is not possible at this moment."

"But you two do have something planned for tomorrow."

"Yes, Gilbert worked out some of the basics, and then I polished them up. Rest assured, we do have a stra– fine, battle plan, now will you please stop kicking my leg! – ready for tomorrow's match." Arthur then smiled and tapped his head with a finger. "All of it safely stored right here."

That was a relief. If it had only been Gilbert to formulate a plan, who knew what sort of nonsense his brother came up with. Knowing the Prussian, it probably involved lots of explosions or stuffed animals or even penguins, or worse still, a ghastly combination of all three. Arthur would see to it that at the very least, the plan would not get any of them arrested.

At least he hoped so. Arthur tended to do rather illogical things when it came to his almost-obsession with beating up Francis. Was this – this paranoia about security simply one of those? He decided to ask. "So, about these security issues–" he began, but was promptly interrupted.

"Why the hell are you still kicking my leg?"

"Just felt like it."

Ludwig cleared his throat meaningfully. Arthur had grabbed Gilbert by the collar, but calmly paused in mid-punch to attend to his inquiry. "Oh, sorry. Anyway, do you think the Vargas boys are done with dinner?"

"I don't really see how that relates to my question," Ludwig replied, but at Arthur's look he reluctantly added, "but Feliciano usually gives me a call after he's done. Usually around this hour or so. Why?"

"You'll see," Arthur replied, before he continued his interrupted sock to the head. Gilbert dodged and grabbed a handful of Arthur's shirt.

And right on cue, Ludwig's cellular phone rang. A quick glance at the screen indicated that yes, it was indeed the younger of the two Italian brothers. "Hello, Feliciano," Ludwig greeted.

The other two men at the table promptly froze, taking an impromptu truce in their fisticuffs and hissed simultaneously, "Put him on speakerphone!" Startled, Ludwig did as he was told.

"Ve~! How are you?" Feliciano greeted cheerfully. "I just finished dinner and I thought I'd give you a call! We had some delicious pasta!"

"I'm just fine, Feliciano," Ludwig replied. "How're things?"

"Things are good, ve~ I'm looking forward to watching you play in the football match tomorrow – waaah!" A painful yelp from Feliciano, before some loud, rapid cussing in Italian was heard in the background. "I'm looking forward to see Lovi play too! And big brothers Francis and Antonio and Gilbert and Arthur!"

Ludwig sighed.

"Ve, Ludwig~" Feliciano continued, "can I ask you something? Actually, my brother told me to ask you – waaah! Lovi, stop that!"

"Only if you stop being such an idiot! I told you not to tell him that!" Lovino snapped not-too-sofly at the other end.

Ludwig glanced up to see Arthur had his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking in silent mirth. Gilbert was sniggering. What was so funny?

"I'm sorry! Anyway, I had something to ask you! And it's all for the sake of happiness and pasta!" Feliciano said brightly.

Happiness and pasta? Ludwig was puzzled. "Yes, you mentioned that. What is it?"

"Well, I – see, that's me, not my brother – am curious as to how're you going to play tomorrow! He – I mean, I was wondering if you're going play a defensive game or something?"

Ludwig took his phone away from his ear and pointed at it, at the same time giving a meaningful look at his companions. Well, one of them anyway; Gilbert had disappeared under the table, probably pounding the carpet in hysterical laughter, judging from the noise. Arthur was covering his mouth to prevent himself from laughing out loud, but he nodded furiously to answer Ludwig's unspoken question. Yes, this was that security issue he talked about. Yes, this was one of the other side's attempts to solicit their team strategy.

Poor, poor little Feliciano, he thought. Lovino must have threatened him into doing this.

"Ve~ Ludwig? Are you still there?"

"Oh, sorry. Yes, I'm still here. I'm really sorry Feliciano, but I can't tell you that." He took a deep breath and braced himself for what usually followed when one of Feliciano's requests was denied. Here it comes... wait for it....

"But Ludwig~" Feliciano wailed in that predictable oh-so-pitiful tone, "why won't you tell me?"

Ludwig groaned. It was hard to say no when the Italian started wailing. It was just so heartbreaking. No wonder Arthur refused to tell him anything about tomorrow's plan; the man was understandably afraid that if Feliciano kept this up, he might let one or two things slip out by accident. If not, than out of sheer pity.

"I can't tell you anything because I really don't have a clue what we're going to do tomorrow," he answered truthfully. At least he did not have to lie. That made him feel somewhat better.

"You don't know what you're going to do tomorrow?" Feliciano repeated in confusion. Judging from the soft murmur of Italian in the background, his brother shared the same sentiment.

"Yes, I'm just the goalkeeper. I don't really have to do anything else but saving goals." He glanced at Arthur. Surely that little bit of information was all right? He had to give Feliciano something, at the very least to avoid the poor boy from being scolded by his brother again and he was almost certain that the other team already knew that fact anyway.

Again, Arthur nodded to his unspoken question.

There was another softly-spoken exchange of Italian in the background, before Feliciano asked in a miserable tone that made Ludwig feel as if he were a horribly, horribly evil person who had just thrown a litter of cute and fluffy kittens into a pot of boiling water, "Ve~ Are you sure?"

Ludwig summoned all of that German resolve and took a deep breath. "Yes, I'm sure," he replied.

"Okay. Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow! I'd wish you good luck but Lovi would be mad at me! Bye!" Feliciano ended his call, but not before everyone heard Lovino shriek in frustration.

Arthur had gone to a far corner of the room to laugh his head off, while Gilbert crawled out from under the table, wheezing and holding his sides. "God," he gasped, "I didn't think that little Lovino would actually do it."

"Do what?"

"Threaten to forbid Feliciano from cooking pasta for the rest of his life if he didn't call you and try to find out how're we playing tomorrow."

"Forbid him from making pasta – wait, how did you know?"

Arthur gave one final gasp of laughter and raised his hand in admission. "My doing. I had the SIS set up a listening point outside the Vargas home yesterday." He smiled. "Amazing, the technology today. You don't even have to bug rooms like the old days."

Ludwig could only stare at the man in disbelief. "You had SIS stalking the place," he managed to repeat some moments later. "Did you even consider the diplomatic repercussions if your people got caught?" So much for Arthur being sensible.

"Bah, they know how to take care of themselves. They've already left anyway, I couldn't risk having them hanging around there for too long. Besides, that frog tried to get his DGSE to hack into my computer first. Those idiots started it!"

Ludwig sighed and covered his face with his hands. If only his fellow nations would devote such similar passion to solving more important issues, such as global warming or the current worldwide economic recession. But no. They had to zealously devote their efforts to, of all things, a ridiculous Saturday football game – and a game not even recognised by FIFA, nonetheless.

"Stop that," Gilbert chided, pulling his hands down. "And turn your phone off. I'm sure he'll call you again."

"Unacceptable. I can't turn it off, what if the boss needs to reach me?"

"Then your boss will send someone here to get you if it's really important! God West, just turn that phone off. At least if Feliciano can't reach you, Lovino won't be mad at him for failing to get something out of you. The kid'll just be mad at you. Nothing new there."

Ludwig reluctantly admitted that his brother had a point. "All right," he grumbled, and did as he was told.

Apparently Gilbert was the next target on the list, since his cellular phone rang. "Oh shit," Gilbert said, staring at the display. "Now he's calling me. On video, too."

"Don't answer that!" Arthur ordered.

Unfortunately, Gilbert hardly took orders from anyone; he habitually liked to do the opposite, thus leading him to commit the act of flipping his phone open to answer the video call. "Hi there!" he greeted cheerfully, grinning at the screen.

Arthur on the other hand, was making wringing gestures with his hands. Ludwig knew exactly how the man felt; he wanted to strangle his brother a few times himself.

"Ve~ big brother Gilbert! Hi!" Feliciano greeted with that bright smile, waving one hand.

Oh no. His brother had a soft spot for little Feliciano. Now that the Italian was able to use that pleading voice and all those facial expressions to their full devastating, heartwrenching effects, was Gilbert going to give in and let slip their battle plans – err, their team strategy for tomorrow?

"What's up?"

Feliciano seemed to be squinting at something off-screen. "Ve~ Lovi, your handwriting is so tiny... aha!" The Italian faithfully recited whatever his brother had written on – a cue card, maybe? - as he beamed happily, "'Ask the potato bastard's brother what is their offensive strategy.' Oh, okay. Ve~ Gilbert, what is your offensive strategy for tomorrow?"

Either ignoring or totally oblivous to Lovino's frustrated howl of "Chigi~!" in the background, Gilbert replied, "Plans for tomorrow? Nothing special, little Feli. I'm just going to get the Luftwaffe to send a few of those Eurofighter Typhoons to shoot Francis down so it's easier for us to score goals."

Ludwig made an odd choking noise, a noise that was replicated by both Italian brothers, as well as Arthur. Both Ludwig and Arthur lunged for Gilbert's phone.

"What's your brother doing for tomorrow's game, Feli?" Gilbert asked, skillfully fending off attempts by his teammates to wrest his phone away from him.

"I don't know, Lovi won't tell me. But I think when he talked to big brother Antonio earlier he said something about cate– aah!" A hand pushed Feliciano's face away from the screen before it went blank; the call was cut off in the middle of an Italian swear word, courtesy of Lovino.

"Cater-what?" Arthur repeated.

Gilbert frowned. "Catenaccio, I think. Italian. Ah fuck, what the heck does it mean again? Something about defensive play?"

"That would make sense for Lovino. Ooh, I'd better turn my phone off, just in case they decide to call me."

"Excuse me! You're not going to get the Luftwaffe involved tomorrow!" Ludwig thundered, rightly more concerned with the misuse of surgical air strikes rather than worrying over football terminology.

"Of course we're not using your military ("We're not?" Gilbert muttered in disappointment, while Arthur kicked him) at all Ludwig, I swear," Arthur assured. "Although I must say the idea of having Francis being blown to pieces by a BK-27 millimetre autocannon certainly sounds appealing." A particularly malicious smile formed on Arthur's face; the man was obviously imagining the sight.

"Are you sure?" The last thing Ludwig needed was to trigger a five-way international armed conflict in his own backyard – or rather, football pitch.

"Of course I'm sure. Did you really think that I'd let Gilbert work out the details?"

"Good point."

"Hey!" Gilbert protested. "I got little Feli to spill some info, didn't I?"

"I suppose you did," Ludwig reluctantly admitted.

Arthur on the other hand, was frowning. "Don't you think that was a little too easy?"

"What was too easy?" Ludwig asked.

"Feliciano letting that bit about the cater-whatever slip. Do you think anyone would have told him anything about tomorrow's game?"

Gilbert scowled. "Okay, now you're just being paranoid."

Arthur did not look so convinced. "Hmm... maybe. Oh, it doesn't really matter at this point. It won't really change our strategy for tomorrow anyway."

"So can I finally know our tactical plan for tomorrow? Please?" Ludwig grumbled. "We are playing against the current world champion and runner-up. And Antonio's team is the Euro 2008 winner. I certainly don't want to be humiliated on the field tomorrow."

Gilbert stared at him before the man howled in laughter. "West! You're actually excited about this match! Ooh, you just want to get back at them as much as I do!" he gasped, eyes watering in mirth.

Ludwig flushed slightly. "I don't know what you're talking about."

His brother cackled. "Aha, you can't lie to me! I knew it! You're still miffed about your team losing to Spain in the Euro final! And for getting only third place in the World Cup!"

"I am not!"

"Admit it!"

Ludwig's cheeks were bright red with guilt and embarrassment. "Shut up!" he hollered.

Gilbert was beaming. "My baby brother wants to get his revenge on these idiots. I'm so proud!" He looked as if he were about to burst into tears of joy.

"All right lads, that's enough," Arthur said, grinning. "Anyway, our strategy. Like I said, Gilbert came up with the basics, and I refined them. Here's what we'll actually do." The Anglo-Prussian-German alliance gathered around in a conspiratory cluster, and listened.

--x--

"Do you think they bought the act?" Lovino wondered.

"What act? Anyway, that was really mean of you, Lovi! Threatening your poor little brother with those awful things just to get him to cooperate!" Antonio scolded as he patted Feliciano, who was still sobbing.

"Waah! I didn't get anything out of Ludwig or big brother Gilbert! And I accidentally told them about your plan! Now I'll never be able to make any pasta ever again!" Feliciano wailed, oblivious to Antonio's attempts at comforting him.

"Oh, stop that! I didn't expect you to get anything out of them anyway, I just wanted you to let them think you accidentally slip out how we're playing tomorrow!"

Feliciano stopped sobbing. "You mean I was supposed to tell them about the catenaccio?" he asked, confused.

"Of course you were! Why do you think I have been yammering about that out loud for the past thirty minutes? I knew you were going to spill something, so I figured out that you might as well give them the wrong information!"

"So does that mean I can have my pasta?" Feliciano asked hopefully.

Lovino groaned. "Yes, you can have all the pasta you want, now just shut up and stop crying, okay? Go ahead and make some now if makes you feel better."

"Ve~!" Feliciano muttered happily before he skipped to the kitchen.

Antonio frowned, a significant sign of disapproval from the usually cheerful nation. "That's just a shady thing to do, Lovi."

Lovino merely harrumphed in response to Antonio's scolding about his little act of deliberate misinformation. Him, shady? The other side wanted to use jet fighters to shoot their goalie. Not that he really cared, since it was only Francis after all. Still, tit for tat.

He knew Antonio would not understand; the man was Spanish. Lovino was Italian, and to Italians, football was more like a battle where survival ruled over all. (While Feliciano was undoubtedly Italian and was a rather gifted player, unfortunately his younger brother prized pasta more than football. Lovino had been forced to accede to Feliciano's requests for quick pasta breaks every twenty minutes during practice, a fact that drove him crazy.) Antonio saw football as an honourable duel – what did you expect from a nation of bullfighters? The Spaniard, in a rare show of absolute firmness, had even insisted that their team use his style of playing for tomorrow.

Ah yes, Lovino looked forward to tomorrow. Tomorrow, he would be able to unleash all of his football fury on that stupid potato bastard.

He grinned.


Additional notes:

i. SIS – Secret Intelligence Service; the UK foreign intelligence service, more popularly known by its former name, MI6.

ii. DGSE - Direction Générale de la Sécurité Extérieure; the French foreign intelligence service.