Lost in Paradise, Secret Door.

AN removed.

Recovery

Dismissal

"I don't know much about painting..." Canada admitted quietly, suddenly awkward with having run off to a room that was too cluttered to move around in properly. Italy's studio was... well-used.

"He's very good."

The first thing Canada saw whenever he entered the studio were the stacks of framed canvases that were piled up along the wall right next to the door. He'd never been to Italy's private residence before, so it had been a surprise to see them all. Most were still attached to their wooden frames, surfaces pulled tight for paint and charcoal and whatever else Italy was using to draw on them. But there were even more that had been taken off the frames, warped beauties stacked on shelves or discarded on the floor, old boot-marks showing how little their creator seemed to think of them.

The floor was a complete mess. An old drop-cloth that could have been there since the war half-covered the same dark wood that ran throughout the apartment. Paint had spilled, dripped, splashed, and splattered all over the dingy grey boards. Acrylic, oil, and water colours made it sticky in places and stiff in others. Bits of plaster, wood, clay, string, and stone were constantly underfoot, making it even harder to walk past the three large tables without knocking something over. The air smelt like plaster and paint and dust- it felt like the place where things were created and brought to life.

Studio was a clean word, workshop was more apt. This felt active, not studious.

A potter's wheel, two easels, a carving block and a pedestal, there were five pieces of unfinished art, one for each station, and then there were plenty more left on the tables all on their way to the stacks that hedged the work-space. There were books open everywhere- art books mostly. Walking cautiously through the clutter, Canada saw books written in German, French, English, even-

"He can read Cyrillic?" That certainly looked like the script Russia and his sisters used...

"I wouldn't be surprised, he still remembers Ancient Greek." Seriously? "Da. Some say when he was very small his grandfather brought Greece's mother to teach him sculpting." Italy was so old, it was hard to remember sometimes. "In war he behaves like a child, in everything else..." In everything else, he could be brilliant...

"I think this is mine?" Canada was surprised when another image caught his eye, the blonde carefully approaching one of the tables where- yes, that was definitely Native Canadian artwork: the west coast raven had its wings spread over two pages of a book in front of the carving block. "This-! He's mimicking me!" That, that had to be a compliment, right?

The piece Italy had been working on was a bird in flight. The fact that he'd attempted to carve the animal with its wings spread, talons reaching out and spine bent was ambitious enough, but to do so out of wood seemed that much harder. At this point, very little of the animal had revealed itself from the material- only the sketches resting next to the book told Canada what Italy had been envisioning, his tools still tossed down in a mess- one of the chisels was even sitting on the floor.

"Oh, I get it..." Russia came up next to him and Canada edged over so the other nation could see the book and the drawings, Ivan's hand coming down gently on his back as his violet eyes appraised the art in front of them. "Mimicking, yes. You see where the ellipses will go around the eyes? He wants to use the symbols of Canadian artwork in European sculpture... a bird, very ambitious."

"You said he knows stone, why is he using wood?" It would probably be much easier to work in stone... Approaching the bird again, Canada reached a hand back towards Russia and let their fingers link together warmly. The bird though, it was emerging from a block of yellow wood- soft, something that had clearly been irritating the carver.

So many little details- only the right wing was revealed and yet Canada could see the sections of feather and sinew that Italy had already tried to detail. But wood was soft, it was fibrous: millions of tiny strands all woven together to form a solid. Italy either didn't have the tools or the skills needed to shave the wood down the way he wanted it. He'd succeeded with the top side of the wing, but as soon as Canada crouched a little to see under it- yes, the same technique had destroyed the material once Italy started moving against the grain.

"Do these answer your question?" Looking away from the carving, Canada heard the sound of paper shifting and watched Russia pull back a few sheets of discarded newsprint- it looked like an economics report, something from a Sunday paper- and revealed several small plaster models.

"He already made it!" Why were they broken?

All piled up together were four birds that matched the sketches, just not exactly: one had the head raised instead of down and focused, and each one had a slightly different wing position. Italy had selected what looked like the most difficult one- a hawk or an eagle getting ready to nab its prey off the ground- as his final subject, but all of them bore the marks of native influence. Ellipses for joints and tear-drops as feathers, west coast style merging with European anatomy. They were white, beautiful little figures, and done at a much smaller scale than their wooden cousin.

But they were all broken, and, well, the hammer resting next to them explained that pretty well. The hammer head was dusted with white plaster, little bursts of white marring the table where plaster and steel had collided.

"Why would he do that...? Don't laugh at me!"

"You are a builder, Canada, not an artist." Well that certainly sounded like an insult... "Not at all. It means many good things." And yet Russia was looking somewhere else when he said that, his attention escaping out the windows into the dark rain. Annoyed, Canada reached out and touched Russia's chin, bringing curious indigo eyes back to his. There. He liked that better; it wasn't nice to be ignored.

"What about you?" Russia tilted his head just-so to the side, a childlike smile on his thin lips. They were almost the same height- Russia was taller, but not by much. He didn't understand the question. "Italy's an artist and I'm a builder, what does that make you?"

Russia's smile changed a bit and grew a little bigger, becoming more like a smirk as he turned around to face Canada properly. With America in the next room it felt like a risk when Russia leaned down a little, but it was worthwhile at the same time, and Canada stayed right where he was without backing up or away. He knew that was one of the things Russia liked about him: that he wouldn't jump away in fright anymore than he would boast about not being intimidated. Ivan's smile and the intrigued look in his eyes was one way he'd figured this out, but having the Russian say as much helped too.

"Me? Why, I'm a-"

"Son of a bitch!"

"Grow up, you imbecile!"

Um...

"West, no!"

"America!"

Canada looked up at Russia, the two of them watching the door for a moment as a flurry of voices picked up outside, not calming down as they stood there. That-

"Stop! Let him go!"

That was not good.

"Those idiots," Vatican hissed, and China just shook his head briskly.

"Children," he agreed, watching Japan hurry out of the bedroom and close the door behind him. He didn't get up from his seat, just listened to the shouting voices and picked out each individual one with disdain. Folding his arms stiffly, China glanced over the bed at where the Vatican City State was sitting on a chair much like his own, worrying the wooden rosary from his belt between his fingers. He was staring down at Italy, and the ancient nation followed his gaze.

"He reminds me of Rome." China selected his words with care, not looking up when he felt the Vatican's attention focus on him again. With a rough sigh, China picked himself off his chair and sat carefully on the edge of Italy's bed, first touching the silent nation's bandaged hand and then brushing some of his long red hair off of his face. "Not all the time, but every now and then I look at him and see his grandfather."

Italy certainly had the scars to match the old man now. China had expected more of the little pink marks on his body to vanish, but it seemed like most of the cuts and rips and gouges in his skin were going to remain. They didn't disfigure him, but China didn't like the implication that Italy had survived years of barbaric fighting and punishment. Like the nations bellowing at each other outside the bedroom, he didn't like feeling obligated and indebted to the soft underbelly of Europe...

Speaking of yelling, the noise wasn't subsiding. He'd expected Japan to go out and calm them down, but through the closed door China could hear Prussia booming over Germany, and then Russia started barking sharply when America's voice cut through France's muffled words.

"This isn't helping him." Vatican whispered harshly, his wrinkled hands beginning to shake as he clutched the little wooden cross and rubbed it harder than before. If China could have reached that far he might have tried taking the Micro-nation's hand, but it felt strange to wear such a young face around a nation he was so much older than. "Those idiots, shouting and screaming in his house when he's like this-"

"I can hold off Russia or America, but not both once they get started," China explained. "If I go out there with nothing it will just get worse," because if those two were fighting then China would have to choose a side, and if he did that then things would get very ugly very quickly. Or they would both side against him, which would be just as bad.

"Vatican please-" The noise in the room increased ten-fold when Canada opened the door, the yelling almost swallowing his voice as it washed over them. "You have to help stop them, they'll listen to you!"

China doubted that but the Vatican scowled and stood, his fury barely contained while China shook his head again and winced at the noise. Canada foolishly left the door open and China tsked sharply as they vanished, looking down at Italy's face and wondering how he could possibly sleep through the noise. He didn't look any different as the sound of furniture scraping and feet scuffling reached them, hell, the Italian wasn't even breathing.

Wait.

"Italy-" China's hand dropped from Italy's fever-dry face to his chest, resting there for a second as he waited to feel his lungs rise or fall. Nothing happened. "Italy!" Breathing- why wasn't he breathing? "Italy!"

His heart was beating, but it was slow- slowing. China immediately jumped, bracing his hands on the bed and lowering his ear until it was over the Italian's mouth and nose. He couldn't hear anything, but he could smell- what was that smell? Thick, metallic, copper-

'Blood?' No, not possible. China ripped back the covers but there was no blood. He'd changed the bandages around Italy's torn arm just that morning and the gross wound was fixing itself, not getting worse. China man-handled the other nation onto his side just to check his back for the impossible, and when he let Italy down again he saw the red trailing from the pillow to his dark lips.

"No!" He shouted, taking Italy's jaw in hand, only to find it rigid. How was that possible? They knew he had reflexes: Italy was unconscious, not brain-dead, but a clenched jaw was not a reflex. China forced his lips back and he couldn't see what the younger nation was biting down on, but had to assume it was his tongue filling his mouth and throat with blood. "You do not get to choke right in front of me, brat! Open your mouth!"

China slapped him but the blow didn't do anything, it just forced some of the blood to travel up his nose instead of just choking his throat, thick red slowly dribbling across his cheek and down his chin. Forcing Italy onto his side again, China pounded on his back, trying to force a cough, but he was resisting-!

"JAPAN!" He needed help, or at least someone else to take the fall with him. "Canada! Get back in here!"

"China?" He didn't get to look up again at whoever answered him, but he'd been right to shout for Canada because the North American's hands were abruptly on Italy's body. Together they managed to move his limbs in place so he would stay on his side, and from his awkward position behind Italy China gripped the other nation's jaw, forcing his thumb up into the soft tissue behind his chin. He pushed hard, hard enough to bruise and break the skin, but China didn't care.

His mouth opened, not by a lot but Canada's fingers were between his teeth and pushing back his lips in the next instant. If he tried to clamp down again and bite him then China didn't see it, feeling the tension drain out of the Italian's neck completely as thick red blood slid out over his tongue and stained the pillow.

"Hit him again!" Canada ordered, and China obliged him by pounding on Italy's back. The Canadian wasn't shy about sticking two fingers deep into the Italian's mouth either, pulling out blood and irritating the back of his throat on purpose. Reflexes, reflexes-

It was weak, but Italy gagged once and then coughed, the reaction successfully triggered as several more wracked his body. He didn't gasp or lift his head, he didn't do anything except cough and shake for several moments like he was cold, but that stopped almost as soon as Canada smothered him in blankets again. It was up to them both to lift the stained pillow-case and wipe his nose and mouth clean, the coughs and shivers not doing anything to wake him up.

Blessedly, there wasn't that much blood. Only a few spoonfuls had pooled in his throat and blocked his air-way, but Canada immediately twisted a handkerchief from his pocket and wedged it between Italy's teeth, propping his mouth open and preventing him from hurting himself again in his sleep. They'd have to give him water once things calmed down...

But those bastards outside were still screaming, and China heard something shatter before he jerked the pillow out from under Italy's head.

"What are you-?"

"Keep him breathing!" China ordered, ripping the case off the pillow and tossing the soiled cushion on the floor as he stood up and stormed out of the bedroom.

The white cloth wasn't soaked with blood or drenched in it, but as he stepped out into the fighting and the yelling, China spread the white linen for all to see and let the red stains do the talking for him.

Prussia was the first one to make eye-contact, letting go of Germany's shirt as his jaw went slack and he stared between the crimson and China. Germany didn't know why he'd been released where he'd been egging to have another go at America, but black-eye and bleeding lip aside he seized up and lost all colour at the sight. As for the young upstart across the room, America barely noticed that anything was off until Russia stopped growling and forced him to turn around, the smaller blonde trapped in a heavy arm-lock as he was made to face China. America stalled instantly, and there were only mutters and swears until one by one China gathered everyone's attention.

The Vatican City rushed by in a blur of black and red, but when Germany tried to smooth his hair back and follow him China stepped in the blonde's way. The eastern nation wouldn't let the European argue with him, because as soon as Germany laid a hand on him to push China aside, he brought the fabric up like a talisman and watched the blood ward the other nation away. He tossed the cloth to the floor like a challenge and there was no talking.

Japan looked horrified and slowly sat down on one of the dining room chairs, France slipping one bruised hand into his pocket before he quietly scuffed his shoe over the broken wine glass on the floor. England was leaning heavily against one wall like he'd been pushed, his face white with strain as he nervously glanced between America and France. The sound of his cane's rubber end touching the floor was uncomfortably loud, and he was favouring his right leg more than he had before as he made himself push away from the wall and stand on his own. China was prepared to let the silence last, nodding to Russia as a sign for him to finally let America go, the northerner rolling one shoulder carefully like he'd strained it in the scuffle.

As soon as he was free America tried rushing past them into the bedroom, but just like with Germany, China cut him off. He set a hand on America's shoulder to block him, and before America could make the stupid mistake of trying to fight him, the older nation hit him with words:

"He stopped breathing." China hadn't wanted to speak- or rather, he wanted to say a lot of things but it did not feel right to break the silence in Italy's house. "He laid there, choking, while the rest of you stood out here fighting like children." No one rebuked him, they couldn't. America stepped back and Germany just stared past him like the world was crumbling away.

England's cane was the only sound, just the methodical thump and scuff of his foot over the floor as he slowly walked to where the pillow-case had fallen, standing over it with his eyes downcast as he began to weigh his options. With a quiet breath, he bent one knee and his knuckles went white around the cane's head, the Englishman lowering himself slowly until he scraped up the edge of the linen sheet with one hand. He stayed like that, unable to get up again but China didn't linger on that fact, he just watched England's fingers trail over the blood-stains before he looked back at America and Germany.

He was positive they'd started the fighting, because there was no way Germany would look oh-so guilty otherwise and with America it was practically a given. The only thing any of them could hear right now were a few muffled words from the bedroom, and then Canada reappeared from down the hall right before the bedroom door was slammed shut. China followed everyone's eyes down to the Canadian's blood-stained hands, his fingers still smeared with red from saving Italy's life.

Germany looked crushed and in need of a seat, Prussia quickly appearing at his side and walking his brother away to sit on the couch next to the droning radio. America stared at his twin with a forlorn look in his eyes. He finally seemed humbled by something, not to mention hurt when Canada shook his head carefully and walked over to the kitchen to wash his hands. China kept an eye on Russia, but the tall nation was merely observing for now, not getting involved between the brothers.

"Tomorrow we leave," China stated, expecting someone, anyone, to contradict him, but he was pleased when the others held their peace. "Use tonight to make preparations, tomorrow morning we will say our goodbyes and depart. We are not helping him by staying here, we are not helping him by hating each other in his house."

Despite the silence, China expected someone to argue with him, and by someone he meant America. Humbled or no he didn't make a move to help England up off the floor, so France took responsibility instead and gripped the other nation's arm to help keep him steady. When Canada turned off the water in the kitchen America didn't move, so Russia drifted over to him instead. China heard their quiet voices murmuring to one another, but it was brief, and didn't include an interruption from the other twin.

Prussia stayed with Germany, who was joined by Japan. Vatican had locked the bedroom door to keep Italy safe from the rest of them.

America looked so alone standing forgotten in the middle of the room, no one except England so much as casting a glance his way while the super-power tried to cope with what was happening. He was failing to keep calm, and that was why China focused on him.

"Alfred." Hearing that personal, private name brought the American's blue eyes up, China keeping his voice down far enough that the call didn't carry, but they all heard it. Bringing one hand up, he curled two fingers to beckon the much younger nation over to him. America hesitated for a moment, but as China turned to walk down the hall he heard him take a breath and follow.

He walked into Italy's studio and didn't pay much attention to the lively mess around them, turning when America entered as well and shut the door behind them. China repeated the same gesture from before, bringing the disgruntled, uncomfortable American boy closer to him before he spoke. He did not want his words to carry far.

"I don't care." In fact, his words didn't carry at all, they reached America and dropped out of the air before they could flutter away. "The why, the how; none of it matters to me, America, but listen." America wasn't looking straight at him, his gaze was lost staring at a downward angle somewhere else, his vision out of focus as China hoped he was listening, choosing his words and tone of voice with deliberate care. "If you continue to crumble, I will push you down."

"What-?" America lifted his eyes and something sparked in them, but China crushed it.

"I have seen more empires rise and fall than you have known years on this earth. Do not forget who feeds your capitalist markets, do not forget whose labour you exploit on a daily basis, and never forget that I am watching you." These words, none of them were new. China wasn't making sudden claims or wild assumptions, he was simply giving a reminder to his hot-headed acquaintance. A reminder that the current balance of power only existed because it was precisely that: a balance, and one China would upset if provoked.

He considered today's events a provocation.

"You and I will not fight the way you and Russia did for fifty years." China didn't mind whispering, he had one hand in the pocket of the black suit-jacket he was wearing, comfortable in the western-style clothing after years of having it chafe and bother him. He enjoyed feeling the power brush up against his skin. "There will be no rockets or puppet regimes; either I will watch you fall and hide like a mouse in your hole, or I will chase you in there myself."

There. That was the threat. It hadn't changed much but now there was a new card in play: the Isolationist one America had been toying with for weeks now. The rhetoric his politicians were spewing was all over the internet, China couldn't have built a firewall to keep it out if he tried, and he wasn't. America's politics were testy and difficult, his relations becoming more and more complicated by the day as men and women on the world stage made repeated blunders or openly insulted other states. He wasn't in the habit of making friends anymore, and the ones he had, well...

Canada was a long ways from abandoning his brother, but France was steadily cooling towards him and Germany had violently lost his temper today in front of everyone. Those two Europeans would drag the rest of their continent away from America if he continued the way he was going: France would convince a confused and obviously very hurt England to look the other way, and Germany would drag the victims of the Euro-crisis wherever he wanted: Portugal, Greece, and all the rest. South Italy would be out for blood if word reached him of today, and if America didn't make good with the Vatican then he would have to deal with spite from an entity who existed beyond boarders.

China would not help him if things continued as they were. Either he'd watch America retreat back behind his own boarders, or he'd set the economic wheels in motion to force him in that direction. Japan was the strongest ally America had out of them all now, but with enough pressure from Europe and the rest of Asia, his brother would crack. China would break him if he had to.

So that was the threat. And the condition? You couldn't have a threat without a condition, a something that you wanted in exchange for not following through with the pain and humiliation of defeat.

"The sleeping dragon of Asia..." America murmured, tension fusing the younger nation's joints together as he stood there like a piece of warped metal. China just smiled a little bit at him, amused by the way America was deliberately trying not to favour his left side at all. He just tilted his head to the side a ways and made a calming, dismissive gesture with one hand.

"I've never fought a purely economic war before. So while it would be interesting to try, this old dragon would rather go back to sleep." Not a lie. There was satisfaction in having power without actually using it. When there was this much at stake China was satisfied just knowing what he could do, and he'd long since outgrown the need to prove such things.

"And how do I ensure that?" The simple fact that America hadn't turned on him like he kept doing with everyone else was China's reward for dragging him in here. It was hard not to smile at the distressed tyke in front of him, the simpering toddler looking for a handful of sweets only to find bitter cabbage and beans. "What do you want, China?"

"I want you to honour the treaty, Alfred." The personal name threw him in the wrong direction, and China just smiled again when he saw the American's brows come down over his blue eyes. "You remember it, don't you? 'Believe in one another. Help one another. Rely on one another. And escape all together.' You signed it, just like we all did." He quoted for the child's benefit, not changing his smile or moving at all as he watched America soak up the information.

"I don't under-"

"I understood the treaty as something that only bound us until we fulfilled the final clause," China interrupted, speaking in a clearer tone of voice than the whispered threats from before. "And eleven of us have done that: we escaped. Maybe we didn't believe or help or rely the way we thought we would, but we got away." And they had believed in, and helped, and relied on Italy in order to achieve that goal. China himself had held the knife that helped Italy rescue them. "But he did not." Italy had not escaped. He'd shed the most blood, but he was the one they'd left behind.

"He's just down the hall-"

"And his only action in two months has been to bite through his tongue and choke on his people's blood. Do you consider that freedom, Alfred?"

"Stop calling me tha-"

"If you do anything to compromise his recovery again, Alfred, I will consider it a blatant violation of the treaty." China cut him off and he did not apologize, he did not smile, and he did not back down. "China and America get along very well, we enjoy taking your money and you live to consume the cheap, expendable products we ship off in return. It would be a great shame if the 'Sleeping Dragon' as you call it were to wake up over a personal dispute, so why don't we work to avoid that?"

This conversation was becoming stressful and tiresome. China had been making fun before, but now he really wouldn't mind taking a nap once this was over, so the talking should end soon. America looked too stressed to take much more, but at least he was still listening, and China didn't care if that response was was out of proper respect for his elders or sheer fury over China's behaviour. As long as the brat held his tongue, he didn't care.

"I do not care how you conduct your business in Europe," he stated, just to emphasize everything and clear the heavy air, "and I do not care how you treat your brother. There are many, many things I do not care about concerning you, Alfred, so do not make the mistake of thinking I am trying to control you and how you deal with the others. Russia can handle you, England and France can handle you, and Japan will back you up regardless of where your temper takes you, so I don't even care why you're so angry to begin with." America looked like he had something to say and China just opened his mouth with another grin, making sure to stretch his lips and shake his head as one would when speaking to a rowdy child. It shut the American up again for a few more precious moments, and China finally chose to end his lecture:

"The only person I care about in this apartment is Feliciano, so tomorrow morning after everyone else leaves, I will be going back to Beijing. And when I go I will be leaving my personal contact information with the Vatican City State. And if he calls me to say that either Alfred Jones' temper or the United States' diplomatic blunders have disturbed North Italy's rest and recovery in any way, then Yao Wang will report to his boss, and China will wake up," and change the face of Asian and American policy forever...

China wanted his words to hurt, the unspoken threat resonating in the air as the reality of their situation settled on America, who somehow managed to keep his temper in check. The super-power was pulled so taught he was like a rope that had begun to fray, and China refused to clip at or relieve the tension. It didn't matter to him how America felt inside, all he cared about was that none of it negatively impact the nation he owed his life to. The nation China had butchered and abandoned just to save his own skin, like an animal, like a barbarian, like everything that the People's Republic of China refused to be.

"I suggest..." and it really was a suggestion on China's part, not that America would believe him, "that you find someplace else to sleep tonight, Alfred."

China's ability to pressure America comes from a lot of stuff you hear from time to time about America's reliance on Chinese labour markets and trade between the two nations. China is one of the world's fastest growing economies (or so the Canadian government is always crooning) and people in politics often refer to them as a "sleeping dragon" resting just off to the east.

The mansion and America's pissyness are both, I think, good reasons for the Dragon to wake up.

-Reposted September 18, 2012.