A/N: Not going to lie: I am WAAAYY behind schedule for what I planned to have happened in this fic by now, and by that I mean this chapter pretty much only covers Monday. I hope to spend this weekend catching up, so you might see more updates following this one over the weekend. ^J^ Alfred's date isn't really in this chapter, but don't worry, you'll be hearing more about it eventually!

In response to reviewer fishstick1999, what's to be sorry for? *digital high five*

Oh, and we hit ten followers. I'm going to go find somewhere to spazz out in glee while you read this chapter. ^J^

Disclaimer: I own neither Hetalia: Axis Powers nor How I Met Your Mother.

How To: Deal With Delicate Matters.

2016 February 22 (Monday)

"It's a very delicate matter," Roderich was saying quickly and quietly. We were at our usual table at the bar, though Elizabeta seemed to be running late. Alfred had been sent to get drinks; I would have gone with him, but Roderich made me stay behind so that he could go over the plan, "so what we should do is approach it with great cautio—"

And then Elizabeta ran in, late. And smiling. And carrying a lot of merchandise.

Plopping them each onto the table as she went through the list, Elizabeta announced, "I made an 'INTERVENTION' banner, an 'INTERVENTION' bullhorn, an 'INTERVENTION' foghorn—because, you know, you can never know for sure—an 'INTERVENTION' tablecloth, an 'INTERVENTION' random-fabric-cloth, an 'INTERVENTION' t-shirt, an 'INTERVENTION' letterman jacket, an 'INTERVENTION'—"

Roderich, who had been attentively monitoring Alfred's progress at the bar, suddenly snatched the "INTERVENTION" veil Elizabeta had been about to unveil and stuffed it under his shirt, exclaiming, "Quick, Carlos almost has the drinks ready!"

He swept everything else underneath the table and Elizabeta hastily seated herself so that the merchandise was hidden behind her long skirt. I pouted.

"But I wanted that letterman jacket . . ."

"Oh, I'm sorry you lost it within sixty seconds of meeting it—like just about anything else you ever hit on (Totally not true, by the way! Liz probably just felt like being lame)—but you'll get it back later—unlike anything else you've ever hit on (Also not true! They alwaayys come back for more of this awesomeness!)," said Elizabeta sympathetically. As soon as Alfred turned around with the drinks in hand, she kicked me and demanded, "Now shut up and act natural!"

"You didn't have to make it violent!" I protested, leaning down to rub my wounded shin.

"It's for emphasis."

"Then emphasis is almost as lame as you are right now."

My last thought before I blacked out that time was "Who the heck fits an 'INTERVENTION' frying pan in their purse?"

Now excuse me as I find out why I feel like there's something thin and moist across my face. And why this inky stuff comes off when I touch it.

[Comments (4)] [Show comments]

Elizabeta Hedervary: Perhaps a mirror would be of help?

Because, you know, mirrors. ^w^

Elizabeta Hedervary 2016-02-22

Gilbert Beilschmidt: What the heck is wrong with you?

Like, who draws WINE propaganda on their BEST FRIEND's forehead? That's both totally unawesome and totally unprecedented! (You're SUPPOSED to prefer BEER.)

Gilbert Beilschmidt 2016-02-22

Elizabeta Hedervary: "BEST FRIEND's forehead"?

Suuure, you keep telling yourself that.

Elizabeta Hedervary 2016-02-22

Gilbert Beilschmidt: Ja, I will!

And not because you told me to—I will because it's totally true! HA!

Gilbert Beilschmidt 2016-02-22

Preparing for the Matthewvention! Intermatthew. Screw wittiness! Unawesome lack of puns . . .

2016 February 22 (Monday)

After I regained consciousness this afternoon, updated my blog, and then totally didn't alert Elizabeta and Roderich of my wakefulness by screaming super loudly after seeing the horrifying wine propaganda that was drawn on my face (because none of that wine-drawing-stuff totally ever happened at all and that part of my totally-not-an-actual-memory was clearly just some awful nightmare because my best friends would totally never betray me and completely shatter my respect for them in such a devastating manner), the two of them armed me with an "INTERVENTION" banner, an "INTERVENTION" tablecloth, and a roll of tape and sent me to prepare their living room for Alfred's intervention. Elizabeta was off baking an "INTERVENTION" cake in the kitchen (you know, we should really give her an "INTERVENTION" intervention . . . hmm . . .), but Roderich? Well . . .

"Do you have to play that lame classical music while we're busy here?" I groaned as the banner fell for the umpteenth time before I could tape up the other end. Glaring at it on the floor, I added, "And it would totally be helpful if you could hold up one end while I tape the other instead of you watching me fail a billion times."

"But it's only happened about fifteen times now," said Roderich, not pausing in his piano-playing. Gilbird, who was seated comfortably on the instrument, glanced at me lazily.

"Yeah, thanks a lot for pointing that out," I huffed, gathering the poster off the ground with a snort. "Real helpful, Roddy. Reeaall helpful."

I paused to stare at Gilbird, whose gaze was starting to look kind of sort of all kinds of condescending. "Hey, what're you looking at?"

Gilbird obligingly looked away.

"Besides," Roderich continued, "it's a fast-paced overture that's supposed to motivate you to work on the room faster with its quick tempo."

"Ja, ja, but wouldn't it go faster if, I don't know, you actually helped me with some of it?"

This time, he did pause to throw me a withering look.

"Do NOT question the classical music, Gilbert."

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Carlos Machado: I seriously wonder about you guys sometimes!

But yo! Roderich! You haavve to play that overture for me sometime!

Carlos Machado 2016-02-22

Popping the question!

2016 February 22 (Monday)

"Elizabeta?" I asked. I had joined her in the kitchen after somehow managing to secure the banner using the power of my own awesomeness; in contrast, Roderich was still playing that "fast-paced overture that's supposed to motivate you to work" on the piano.

Elizabeta didn't look up from where she was carefully frosting "INTERVENTION" onto the cake, but responded, "Yes?"

"We've totally known each other for a long time . . . and there's this question that's been on my mind for a while that I wanted to ask you, but I wasn't sure if it would've been appropriate to do so in front of Roderich because I don't know how he'd respond (being totally lame and all) . . . so, if you'll let the awesome me do so . . . can I ask it now?"

"Well, you're acting remarkably OOC," she commented, finishing frosting the "I" in "INTERVENTION". Yes, the first "I". Shrugging, she sighed, "Ah, go ahead then."

"Elizabeta, will you please make me the happiest guy in the world . . . and tell me why you're going totally overboard with this intervention? It's totally starting to freak me out. I mean, I know you're just trying to be a good friend to Alfred, which is awesome and all, but—"

"I'm doing this in the name of yaoi, Gilbert."

"Oh."

Well. That explains a lot.

Notes on this Chapter:

"INTERVENTION"s, am I right? ^J^

Also, I was thinking of drawing something worse on Gilbert's forehead *cough*likeyaoi*cough*, but I think wine propaganda would already be more than enough punishment for him since he's such an avid supporter of beer. Note: you probably shouldn't drink too much (or any, if you want to practice abstinence) alcohol either way. Careful around that stuff.

Oh, and Gilbird made a reappearance! *cheers* And yeah, Elizabeta's kind of sort of taking charge on this whole "INTERVENTION" thing. ^J^