Disclaimer + Warning: I don't own Hetalia or Anna! And also, beware the epic amounts of cuteness at the end of this chapter! If you're not careful, you might just squeal at the cuteness of it all!

You have been warned.

Chapter 2: In Which Damien is Home Alone

She pipes up at exactly 8:30, half an hour after he first pulled into the part of the parking lot so aptly labeled 'Drop-Off Zone'. He's been holding up the cars behind him for half an hour, horns have been blaring, and he just can't muster up enough of a damn to care if he's holding up traffic because it's his baby girl that's about to get out of the car for her first day of public school. His Anna. Not theirs.

"Papa, I'm going now, okay?"

He tries to smile, manages a crooked grin, and nods. "Yeah! You have fun, alright? And call me if y-you need anything, 'kay? I'm just a call away." Not quite so dimly, he hopes that there will be some problem that entails him picking her up from the dismal life of sitting behind a wood desk until 3:00.

As much as he wants to, he doesn't stop her as she opens the door, maneuvering her backpack onto her shoulders. On the threshold of the sleek door, she pauses, turns back, and wraps her arms around his arm. "Don't blow up the kitchen, Papa!"

She's out of earshot before he can even begin to come up with a retort. Frowning, the blonde starts up the car again, reveling in the low purr and pretending that he had said something witty to that retreating lilac backpack that makes him think of someone he hopes to never see again. The mere thought of that bastard's eyes makes him grip the steering wheel just a bit harder.

It doesn't take him long to find the nearest, most soothing coffee shop he knows. In no time at all, he's biting into a donut, his past forgotten beneath a layer of hot chocolate glaze sprinkled with multi-colored dots.

o0o0o0o0o0o

For the first time in nearly a year, he's afraid when he pulls up into the driveway of his-their-home. Even if the woodsy mansion does look very comfortable, very inviting, Damien Moore can't help the feeling of loneliness that creeps into his throat upon shifting the car into a smooth 'Park'. What the hell is he going to do until 3:00? Looking at the clock on the dashboard to find out that it's only 9:13 doesn't help his mood.

Not. In. The. Least.

"What's wrong with you?" 'Kay, talking to himself isn't necessarily a bad thing. It's not a good thing, but it's not a bad thing if you're just doing it to make some sort of noise in the too-quiet house. "It's not like she's not going to come back! Yup! Besides, what's six hours and forty-seven minutes to you, hmm?"

An eternity, is what it is! Especially when you no longer have a job to keep you busy and no handsome Brit to love on as you enter your very spacious living room, with its several couches wide enough for two fully-grown men to snuggle on.

He drops noisily onto the nearest couch, keys tossed haphazardly onto the lamp table beside him. All he needs to do is find something to do for the next six hours and-he checks his watch-forty-six minutes. It's not such a long time. Maybe there's a game of baseball on?

"Wonder if the Braves are on?" Huffing-stupid house and it's stupid silence-he reaches for the remote, twirls it in his hand once, and sits through a solid hour of channel hopping before he finally settles on some old black and white western movie. The actors themselves, he muses, are mediocre at best. Now, if they really knew just how frickin' hard it was to find a meal that on most days in the old west would barely have been considered decent, they wouldn't be complaining about something as rare as 'only one chicken'.

What time is it? The blonde's eyes flick to his watch, frowning irritably. Ten forty-three still isn't three. If he weren't in such an irate mood, he might just find it ironic that he can go through a year of unimaginable tortures and not crack, but that it takes the leaving of his daughter for a little over six hours to break him down so quickly. As it is, he can only brood on the couch and count down the minutes until Anna comes home.

Somewhere in-between, he falls asleep on the couch and wakes, many hours later, to a weight on his leg and a cold ham sandwich on the coffee table. Beside it is another, just as cold as the first. At the sight of it, he smiles and pulls the blanket that seems to have appeared seemingly from nowhere around himself and the weight on his leg. Anna, her head curled against the back of his knee, doesn't stir and he just smiles, knowing that he's not quite so alone and falls back to sleep.

The sandwiches can just wait a bit longer.

Alright, you know you want to say it. "Daawww!" I can't help but add something so cute there at the end~

I was initially going to write some scene with Anna getting off the bus and finding her Papa asleep on the couch, but it just wasn't working out right. :(

This, however, DID work out and it's pretty frickin' cute anyway!

GO READ ONE BIG MISUNDERSTANDING BY mistamie IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY!

Reviews are love~

Anyway, my writing muse is on so I'm off to write another one-shot. ;)

By the way, the 'lilac eyes' he's remembering isn't Mattie~

Roslin