A/N: Thanks to anyone who even read this stupid thing! ;) I have at least another chapter finished and several more planned - I'll put 'em up every week or so if enough people like this v.v

So yeah. That's about it .

"You could at least thank me, you know."

He looked up from his stupid newspaper again, shoving his glasses back up his nose as he did so. "What for?"

"I actually got your damn breakfast here on time."

"You shouldn't curse. It's not ladylike to curse."

"Shut up. You've got your food, be happy."

"So, may I ask why you're on time?"

Elizaveta paused her tirade, staring at him for dramatic effect before continuing. "You're not a bad guy. Guess I can respect you a little after what you did for Feliciano yesterday."

He'd never listened to her lectures, just like she'd never listen to his reprimands about her bad mouth. "Really?"

"Yeah. Just don't think that because I respect you doesn't mean I'll submit perfectly."

"I don't think I could ever expect that of you."
"Good." There was a slightly awkward moment, at least for Elizaveta, as he turned his attention back to his newspaper.

"Well, Mr. Austria, I'm off to do some other menial task," she said, setting off for the door. She wondered if he would notice the painful lack of sarcasm in the oft-repeated sentence.

And, to her utter, heart-attack-inducing shock, he did. Or at least he responded to her. "You may call me by my name, you know."

"And that would be?"

"Roderich. Yes, you may call me that, Miss Hungary."

"While we're at all the sappy name stuff, stop with the 'Miss' shit. I'm Elizaveta. You call me that."

"Very well…Elizaveta." Was she going mental, or did the way he said her name sound light, joking, even?

"Very well…Roderich."

"I thought you had work to do."

"I might…Roderich." She smirked.

"Shut…up!" It was a tentative, failed attempt that made Elizaveta laugh.

"You suck at that! You need to stick to your fancy words. Seriously. Even 'shut up' sounds weird coming from you."

He looked slightly embarrassed and didn't say anything further. She suddenly felt bad for him. Poor guy, he knew nothing about life except for his piano, and that didn't even count.

"Hey, don't worry about it," she said nonchalantly. "If you hang around me enough, you'll pick it up."

"And you expect me to 'hang around' you?"

She paused for a moment, thinking. Then her expression burst into an uncontrolled, slightly scheming grin. "Yes I do…Roderich."

*

Elizaveta's least favorite task {other than cleaning bathrooms} was being forced to remain in the hallway outside the piano room for any prolonged length of time. Yes, the piano had its own room, a fact that Elizaveta found amusing. The problem with being in that hallway was that Austria – or Roderich, as he randomly wished to be called – was usually in there, making too much noise.

Today was worse than usual. Every other day, the music at least sounded rational. For some reason, on this occasion it sounded like a five year-old was trying to make something akin to music.

It was getting on Elizaveta's last nerve. Standing in the doorway, she could see him giving the piano a death glare.

Congratulations, you're officially psychotic! She wanted nothing more than to saunter in there and say that without some form of repercussions.

But instead, she stayed where she was, determining that a simple, "What the hell?" would suffice.

It worked well enough, she supposed. Roderich actually let the piano win the glaring contest and glared at her instead. "Language, Elizaveta."

"Answer the question."

"I prefer not to. Now, go away."

"Why?"

He gave her a long, hard stare. "You work for me. Get used to it."

"Not until you tell me what you're doing."

"I'm writing a song, if you must know. There, I answered your question. Now leave. I suppose you have work to do."

"You're writing a song? Seriously? Sounds like crap to me."
His glare intensified. "That's because it's not done."

"What's it called?"

"I don't know. I just started."

Well, she sure knew how to piss him off. It was pretty fun, actually, Elizaveta realized. Despite this, she did have a lot of work to do, since Feliciano was still pretty useless in her soul-crushing grief. She turned to leave, in order to get started on the day's ceaseless menial labor.

"Where are you going?"

She stopped. "To work. Like you suggested."

"Oh."

She kept walking.

"Elizaveta."

"What?" Now it was her turn to be annoyed.

"Stay. I would like your opinion on my song."

Scratch that. Elizaveta wasn't annoyed – she was downright confused. "Fine. But don't get all pissed when I haven't done any of my work."

"As I recall, you weren't too enthusiastic about it."

"Touché."

She walked into the room, feeling like some sort of epic adventurer as she crossed the huge expanse between the door and the piano. The room didn't seem quite as huge as it did when she was on her hands and knees cleaning it, but the awkwardness of the situation made it just as intimidating.

When she finally got there, she looked around for a chair, and, finding no furniture in the room besides the piano, decided just to stand. He'd forget about her being there soon enough and she could make her escape.

Instead, he looked up, staring at her with no real expression. "Why are you still standing?"

"'Cause there's nowhere to sit," she said, drawing out the words in annoyance.

"Oh. Um…well, you can sit here, then." He scooted over on the piano bench, giving her a mixture of his do-what-I-say-now stare and a sheepish smile.

And this isn't awkward at all, she thought, sitting gingerly on the edge with one leg sprawled over the side. Finally, to top off all of the uncomfortable-ness, he didn't start playing as Elizaveta expected he would. He just sat there, silently staring at his piano. For once, she saw a piece of sheet music against the ebony. It didn't matter that it wasn't even half-filled with notes – it was actual, tangible music.

"Apocalyptic," Elizaveta muttered, almost automatically.

"Huh?" He didn't look away.

Well, she definitely hadn't meant for him to hear that. "Um, well, you actually have music. Like…paper." The correct term had currently escaped her, in her flustered and already uneasy state.

Oh, how she would've laughed if he'd said something such as, "Well, I never need to read the music, because I am amazing and I'm a genius and I'm awesome." But, sadly, that would be Gilbert saying that. Except he couldn't play piano.

Instead, Austria/Roderich decided to be boring. "I usually don't need music. However, this time I wanted to be sure I remember the song I write."

"Makes sense." She looked away, hoping that if she pretended to be interested in an empty room, he would forget about her.

And he did, for a while. The only thing that interrupted the silence was the occasional five-second bit of music by Austria. Elizaveta was bored to death. She couldn't help thinking that she wouldn't get any work done, and if he got pissed at her for it, she could and would tell him that it was his fault. She was almost looking forward to this.

Then, out of nowhere, there was music. It didn't sound quite as wondrous as his music generally did, but she figured this was because the song wasn't quite done yet. From what she could tell, the song was loud, strong, full of random minor-key notes, full of life.

It was the first time she had ever liked a sound that came out of that box.

The music dropped off suddenly. Austria was smiling to himself – no, beaming was more like it. He looked sufficiently pleased with himself. Good for him.

"Nice," she said. "I liked it."

More beaming.

"Do know what it's called now?" Elizaveta grinned. She truly enjoyed annoying him.

"Yes." He was smirking, a nearly apocalyptic sight. "It's called 'The Obnoxious, Annoying Maid Who Knows Nothing About Life'."

"That's sweet," she said in a false-happy voice. "You wrote me a song."

"It's not for you. It's about how much of a pain you are."

"It sounds too epic for that."

He looked at the floor, not the piano this time, and Elizaveta could've sworn he was blushing about God-knows-what. Why the hell is every single guy I know a total wimp?

It didn't look like he was doing anything {it never did}, so she stood up, causing him to stare at her again. "I'm going to do my chores, since I'm done reviewing your little song."

He nodded, turning his attention back to the piano. God, he was so damn predictable.

According to cliché, she was at the door when he finally said something. "Elizaveta."

"What?"

"I'm having guests on Friday."

"Lovely."

"Stop interrupting me."
"Sorr-"

"Will you just listen for once? I need to impress these people, so make sure everything looks nice and the food tastes decent."

"I can cook. It's Arthur that can't cook."

Elizaveta knew how she would've responded to herself, but Austria was more interested in that stupid song than whatever he was planning. He never cared about anything other than that piano anyway.

She found it comical, that he claimed she knew nothing about life when all he knew was a room with a piano.

Yes. His stupidity made her laugh. At least she was laughing.