Chapter 4

Russia was really wondering if it was possible for him to kill himself right now.

Granted the movie hadn't been that bad... Well, aside from Prussia's near constant attempts to rape him in his seat. At least the movie itself had provided a slight distraction from the Prussian's attentions, and the dark atmosphere of the theater had been useful in hiding his embarrassed blush. Now though...

Well, now Russia was wondering how much more he could take before he snapped.

Prussia grinned at the obvious discomfort on the other country's face and leaned his elbows against the table, his pale chin cradled in one of his slim white hands. "You doing okay, Russia?"

Russia rolled his eyes and looked away from the ex-nation's red gaze, his violet eyes combing across the restaurant that they had entered almost ten minutes ago, searching desperately for a distraction... Or a knife to stab himself with...

"Is this really necessary?" The Russian grumbled. "Surely a movie would have been enough, da? Matvey and I normally eat at home anyways..."

Prussia shook his head and made a slight 'tsk' noise, looking extremely amused at the moment.

"Come on, commie," he crooned. "You want to make Birdie feel special, right? Imagine how happy he'll be after you take him to this fancy restaurant after such a romantic movie!"

"But Matvey likes simpler things... Couldn't I take him to something less..." Torturous? Formal? Downright annoying? "Well, something less like this?"

"Nope," Prussia argued cheerfully. He glanced carefully out of the corner of his red eyes, his gaze immediately catching sight of Canada's bright blonde head. He knew that the Canadian would follow them... Wait a second, who was that brown-haired chick with him? It looked a little like Hungary... Prussia shook his head and turned back to the Russian, immediately pushing the thought out of his mind. Nah, Hungary wasn't here... She didn't even have a Facebook, so she couldn't possibly know about his 'date' with Russia. Well, unless Canada had told her... But no, Canada wouldn't do that... would he?

"Why are we still following them?" Canada mumbled dejectedly, his eyes locked helplessly on the two light haired countries sitting a few tables away from them.

Hungary shrugged, her grip tightening around the handle of the frying pan that she had somehow managed to smuggle into the fancy Italian restaurant.

"I want to make sure that I see everything that albino dirt bag does so I can kill him for it later," she growled, her green eyes flashing with the promise of vengeance. She hesitated for a moment and glanced over at the Canadian, her eyes softening. "You don't have to watch, if you don't want to. I'll understand if you want to leave."

Canada shook his head stubbornly, still unable to tear his eyes away from the two men that were steadily breaking his heart. "N-no, I'll stay," he muttered firmly. "I-I need to know what's going to happen." Even if it hurt him... hurt him so much that he could barely stand it.

Hungary nodded and turned back to the two men, her brow furrowing when she saw Prussia lean in close to the Russian, his fingers running teasingly across the edge of the taller country's cheek. That bastard... how dare he do this to her and Canada?

"H-hey, Hungary?" Canada interrupted, his tone suddenly surprised.

"Hm?" the female nation murmured, her attention still focused intently on Prussia.

"Uh, is it just me, or are Germany, Italy, Greece, and Japan here too?"

Hungary glanced up at that and followed Canada's gaze, a small smile making its way to her lips when she saw the four nations huddled around a table across the room.

"Oh," she gasped, her eyes sparkling. "How cute... Feli and Ludwig are finally going on a date together! And look at Kiku, he's so cute with Heracles... Oh, where is my camera? I need pictures..."

Canada sighed and shook his head at the Hungarian woman's fascination with yaoi. He felt a sudden surge of sympathy for Germany and the others, wondering if perhaps he should have just kept his mouth shut...

"Ve~ Thanks for taking us to this nice restaurant, Germany!" Italy said happily, his caramel eyes bright as he glanced down at the menu in front of him. "Oooh, look at all of the pasta they have here! What kind of pasta do you want, Japan? I'm thinking of some fettuccine... Oh, but the linguine is nice too... and then there's the spaghetti..."

Japan chuckled under his breath and glanced over at the Greek seated beside him. Greece was also staring at the menu, his brow furrowed slightly as he tried to understand the Italian.

"... Can you understand this, Japan?" Greece murmured.

Japan shrugged and looked over Greece's shoulder, his eyes traveling down the list of dishes on the thick paper. "Sort of... When you've been around Italy as long as I have, you pick up some Italian... mostly the names of food."

"Oh..." Greece frowned at the menu once more before looking back up at Japan, his green eyes expectant. "So... what should we eat?"

"Ah..." Japan blushed, wondering if he should be flattered by the responsibility that Greece was giving him. But... what if he made a mistake and Greece didn't like the food? "What do you like, Greece-san?"

The Greek shrugged and looked back at the list that so confused him. "...Something with fish. You like fish... so do cats."

Japan smiled at his boyfriend's obsession with the felines and trailed his eyes down the menu, looking for something that involved fish.

"Ah, there's something," he murmured. The Asian lifted his arm and pointed at the item in question, the edge of his hand brushing slightly against Greece's wrist. Japan blushed and hastily lowered his arm, his brown eyes meeting the Greek's timidly as he ducked his head. "S-sumimasen," he muttered.

Greece chuckled and patted the top of Japan's head. "You're so cute, Kiku... Your hair is really soft, too. Like a cat's..."

Several tables away, Turkey and China watched the two nations over the top of their own menus, their eyes narrowed as Greece ruffled Japan's hair.

"Why is he doing that, aru?" China demanded, slightly angry. "My kid brother doesn't appreciate such an invasion of space... aru."

"Damn Greek bastard," Turkey growled, completely ignoring China's comment. "I was supposed to be the one to get Japan... I mean, I'm closer to him... Damn Greece... I want to be the one touching Japan's hair.."

"Hey! Were you not listening to me, aru?" China snapped. "Such invasion of space is not appropriate! How dare you consider touching my brother in that-"

"Hey, bastards! Are you going to fucking order or what?" a new voice interrupted, immediately drawing the attention of the arguing nations.

China and Turkey glanced up, their eyes widening slightly when they saw a brown-haired Italian standing by their table, a notepad clutched tightly in his hand like a weapon.

"...Romano?" Turkey guessed, a predatory smile curving his lips.

The Italian man flushed and glared at the Turk, his hands trembling ever-so-slightly.

"N-no, bastard," he growled. "I'm a fucking waiter. Now, what the hell do you want? We're busy today, unless you haven't noticed."

China glanced around at the half-empty restaurant and opened his mouth to argue, only to be cut off by Turkey as the other country hastily ordered some spaghetti. The Italian waiter nodded in slight satisfaction and hurriedly ran back into the kitchen, ignoring the other customers that were trying to get his attention.

"...How odd, aru," China muttered.

"Lovi~!" Spain cried cheerfully when Romano ran into the kitchen, slightly out of breath. "Did you see them, Lovi?"

"Yeah... don't call me that, bastard!" Romano growled, still shaken up by his run in with Turkey. "I didn't go near them... That fucking potato bastard would have known it was me, and so would Feli..."

"Hm?" Spain frowned, suddenly noticing his Lovi's unease. "What's wrong, Lovi? Did something scare you?"

"S-shut up, damn it!" Lovino shrieked. "I just ran into that Turkish bastard with China... Stupid bastards were spying on Greece and Japan... idiots..."

"Que? Turkey is here?" Antonio demanded, his green eyes darkening. The Spaniard glared at the door that lead to the rest of the restaurant, his hands twitching as if longing to wrap around the handle of a certain battle ax...
"Did you see Russia and Prussia?" England interrupted from his place in the corner of the kitchen (where he had been exiled by the other three in case he 'contaminated' the food). The Englishman frowned at the other countries, still slightly surprised that their plan had worked. When Romano had suggested highjacking the Italian restaurant in order to spy on their targets, England had been skeptical. After all, even if they were countries, it wouldn't be easy to take over such a respectable restaurant so quickly. Of course, he hadn't counted on Romano's influence as Southern Italy... or his power as the head of the mafia.

"Yeah," Romano grumbled. "They were talking and stuff, but that's it."

"Was that commie bastard allowing Prussia to feel him up again?" America demanded. The American turned away from the stove that he had been attempting to use to make himself a hamburger, his blue eyes narrowing behind his glasses. "Damn communist... How dare he cheat on Mattie like this?"

"I thought you didn't like Matthew and Ivan together," England pointed out calmly, his nose wrinkling in disgust when America plopped a large hamburger onto a skillet.

"Well, yeah, but... He still shouldn't be cheating on Mattie," America grumbled, his lips settling into a pout.

England rolled his eyes and turned back to Romano and Spain.

"If you want someone to spy on Italy and Germany, I can dress up as a waiter as well," he suggested calmly. "After all, my country is quite accomplished at spying..."

Romano glared at the Englishman skeptically and shrugged. "Whatever, bastard," he muttered. "But we need to disguise you... They'll be suspicious if a British person looking like you goes up to them."

England frowned, wondering where exactly this was heading. "Fine. What do you want me to do?" he asked warily, his voice trailing off when he saw the suddenly mischievous gleam in the Italian's eyes.

Five minutes later, England stomped up to a table in a neat black pencil skirt and loose white blouse, his ruffled blonde hair covered entirely by a long red-blonde wig that somehow also managed to cover his eyebrows. He glared at the four nations that occupied the table, his feet slipping slightly in the black pumps that Spain had somehow gotten his hands on.

I'm going to kill them, England thought furiously. He cleared his throat, trying to force his voice up a few octaves. "G-good evening, sirs. Is there anything that I can get you...?"

Disclaimer: Yep, still don't own Hetalia. Also, sorry for the odd updating schedule for this fanfic... Hehe, yeah, still trying to work that out...

Anyways, thanks a lot to everyone who read/reviewed/favorited this story! You are all awesome! Keep it up please! Review!