HIMA'S BACK YES HE IS. Also: Hallelujah, The Decision of the Loved

I didn't think I'd be able to work the England scene into this story. Ever. At all. It completely derailed the Christmas chapter but OH MY GOD I got to write it, and I'm so happy, so I don't actually care. Long chapter is long because why the heck not?

WY. WY BABY I LOVE YOU.

Also I know she isn't like five but technically the country's only 7 years old and she's even shorter than Sealand. So hah.

Recovery

We Wish You A Micro-Christmas

"Italy!"

Huh?

"Hey you guys! Wait up!"

The fuck? Who the hell was-?

"Libya?"

"How did you…?"

Romano was too tired to deal with too many surprises right now. Now, after a very long flight from the east coasty of Africa, after four intense days of touring and begging and bartering, he didn't want any more surprises on fucking Christmas fucking Eve. The three other nations with him weren't nearly as tired or run down, but they were alert and somewhat uneasy about coming to Rome.

To have a fifth nation come sprinting up through the airport terminal and get their attention was something else entirely. Romano had been so convinced Libya would never come to Rome that he hadn't even bothered visiting the North African state. Eritrea, Somalia and Ethiopia had been gambles that Romano had only won over by promising to consider several business proposals later, but Libya had so many problems to deal with right now that-

"I'm not too late?" He still had bruises on his face from the fighting, in fact Romano was pretty sure he saw the olive-skinned nation limping along with panting and awkwardly dragging a small piece of luggage behind him. "You're still here, thank goodness, I didn't know where-"

"Hey, breathe."

"You called and I- your message just-"

"I said breathe, damn it." Romano scolded, and then he looked at the other three nations standing behind him, watching. They knew why he'd asked them to come to Rome, but after leaving a brief message for the fourth state Romano hadn't gone into very much detail…

"I know I called, but don't you have more important things to do than come all the way up here?" Why the hell was Romano asking that? Because it was fucking true, but that didn't stop the slightly taller nation from straightening up and setting his shoulders, showing the strength still standing beneath the trauma of civil war.

"Your empire was stupid." Libya pronounced, and Romano felt himself bristle sharply, memories of the first half of the 20th century coming to him with all their glory and, er, not-glory. "But you can't call everyone back together and leave me out of it! No way!"

Ugh…

Fine…

"C'mon, then. I'll explain everything on the drive." They were going to need a bigger car, damn it…

"Hey, you made it!"

"Yes, well… I suppose I should have called ahead."

"Bah! Come in! Hurry- this way!"

England tugged his jacket straight as he stepped into the house, silently giving thanks for the air-conditioning in the sunny household that kept Australia's residence from physically melting. The house was more like a villa, a split-level monster of a rancher sitting on a wide tract of land just outside Canberra. Everything about it was glass and white stucco, and England felt foolish for wearing such heavy clothes on the plane ride down. He also felt foolish for coming, but -

"Hey, everyone!" He just diligently followed behind Australia and told himself this would be worth it. "Look who's here!"

Oh dear, lots of former Colonies… England couldn't help but jump a little when he came into the dining room and saw at least a dozen commonwealth faces looking up at him from a very long, and also very cramped dinner table. Hot summer sunlight was pouring over crystal glasses and paper plates, everything from curried lamb to a stuffed turkey sitting on the table, garden salads and boiled brussel sprouts providing bursts of green beside artificial sprigs of holly. Australia's massive television was on in the large den and visible, but on mute with some sort of Christmas program on. Cheery Christmas music was turned down low and humming in the background.

A global feast was spread out with nations sitting elbow to elbow with each other. They weren't all Christian nations by any stretch, but England was surprised to see Canada glance up from a conversation with India, New Zealand sitting with Belize at his right. With many more faces with many more backgrounds, all familiar to him in one way or another, England wasn't sure why he felt like he was intruding, but the feeling stuck.

They didn't do this every year; that would be too tedious. But every few years when it seemed right, someone in the family would call the rest of them up and decide to host a holiday. It wasn't always Christmas, and for various political reasons it was rarely at England's house, but maybe Australia would invest in a larger dining set before his turn came around again… Was Tonga sitting on a lawn chair?

"S… Sorry I'm late…" Christmas was usually something England preferred to spend alone at home, not down in the Southern Hemi-

"Sit! Sit! I'll get another plate!" There was a lot of shuffling and a bit of laughter as the overburdened table was forced to accept another patron, England uneasily sinking into the plastic chair Australia fetched for him from outside. He was on a corner, but to be honest when one is a good six hours late one doesn't complain about things like that. Samoa was just heaping a spoonful of turkey biryani from India's home onto England's paper plate when he felt a tug on his arm.

"Where's my gift?" Oh-?

"I'm sorry?" A tiny child. Her thick brown hair was done up in one pig tail over her ear, a festive holly sprig (with the sharp points clipped off!) stuck in the tie. Her pink jumper make England sweat in sympathy, but with those unforgivably bushy eyebrows framing such a perfect little scowl, England felt a very unwanted rush of affection hit him at the sight of her. Wy. That was her name, this was the Principality of Wy.

"Where. Is. My. Gift?" Wy stated in short, simple order, tugging on England's sleeve with each word.

"Do you mean a Christmas gift?" He asked, and the scowling child gave a firm nod.

"I got my gift from all my uncles, now I want one from Grandpa."

G-

Grandpa…?

"Hey, Little Princess." India spoke up smoothly, playing with his tone so the words sounded like music. He was pouring a glass of chilled cranberry juice for England, the ice sloshing in the red drink before it was set down. "Don't you think you should ask Australia before you hand out new titles?"

"Nope." Such a precious, demanding little creature. She didn't even hesitate with her answer and she was still tugging incessantly on England's arm. India's smile turned into a grin and he laughed something across the table at Sri Lanka, the two of them sharing an in-joke over the mingled din of conversation. England wasn't sure where his plate had gone, but with two more tugs on his sleeve the former British Empire gave in to temptation.

"Well now, my dear…" Getting both hands under Wy's arms, the little girl seized up as she was lifted into the air and placed on his lap, her back perfectly straight as she perched herself on his knee. She didn't fight or squirm to get away from him, and she focused those sharp brown eyes of hers on him without blinking. "What do you want for Christmas this year?"

"A gift." So bossy…

'Too precious-!' But he couldn't say something like that… Grandpa. Really? He was certainly old enough but did he really look like a grandfather?

England stroked his chin thoughtfully as he pondered the issue of a gift, not really having to think too terribly hard. There were splotches of blue and yellow paint on the back of the girl's fingers, a bandage hiding under her bangs, and several bruises on her knees. Some sort of sports equipment or art supplies would be best, no doubt… Or…

"Well, if there's nothing specific you want then I could always borrow Austalia's kitchen and-"

"Nevermind, I know what I want." Wy interrupted, and England looked up to find India giving him a ghastly look over the top of the child's head. Oh hush up, England was a fine cook and they all knew it!

But as for the matter at hand, Wy tugged his attention back down until he was looking into her firm brown eyes again.

"I want peace of mind." Er…

"I'm sorry, what?" Peace of mind? On the one hand he was finding it very hard not to just wrap his arms around the little micro-nation and squeeze her for saying something so grown up, but on the other- "My dear, you can't be more than ten- actually I know you're less than that." She'd only been born back in 2004, an unexpected little creation in Astralia's eastern territories. "Are you sure you wouldn't prefer a bike? Or maybe a new easel?" It was so rare for a Nation to be born outside of bloody conflict, what could possibly be squandering that innocence?

Wy gave him an unexpectedly stern look, but England was surprised when it melted into something unreadable. Despite where and how she'd been born, Wy wasn't nearly as expressive as England's former penal colony: she was much more like him, and was clearly thinking very hard before she spoke again, reaching out and touching his chest softly where she was still perched on his knee.

"Can I sit closer?" They were still at the dinner table but England obviously wasn't getting any food yet. He had a habit of starting off well with children before things went sour, but it had been so long since he'd been around one that her request- "Please, grandpa?"

Australia came bursting in announcing something about barbequed prawns and England just wrapped his arms around the little girl in his lap, letting Wy snuggle close and rest her head on his shoulder, making herself unexpectedly small in the process.

"What's wrong, darling?" Settling a hand down on Wy's head and speaking softly, maybe the noise at the table was too much for her? "This isn't like you… it's Christmas Eve, you know."

"I know…" This was more than a child sulking over a gift, but when England tried to brace his legs under himself to stand up and lift her, Wy fidgeted and he stayed in his place at the table. "I just want… to know…"

"Know what, dear?"

Wy had her cheek pressed against his chest, her ear over England's heart and her hand loosely hanging onto his red Christmas shirt. When New Zealand mimed a question over the clatter of cutlery and cups, England gestured back with a wave and a dismissive shrug, lying to say she was just tired and pouting. He waited until the little nation in his lap looked up again before he went back to holding her close like before. She was worrying one pink lip between her teeth, but she had that strong, bold look in her brown eyes that actually did come from Australia.

"If I don't tell you a secret and you have to find out later, much later, will you be mad at me?" Hmm? What a strange question for a child to ask him. And what could a nation the size of Wy even have to keep from him? "Will you be mad and never speak to me again, because I didn't tell you?" That...

"Wy…" She was taking it seriously, so despite what urge there was to laugh and brush her off, England took it seriously too. To be fair, he didn't like secret-keeping anymore but it was a fact of life, wasn't it? "I guess it depends, will keeping the secret hurt anyone?"

"No..."

"Will something illegal happen if I don't know?"

"I don't think so…" Hmph.

"Well then, my dear," hoisting the little girl up again despite a small protest, England knew it would annoy her, but he pulled her close and gave her a kiss on the cheek. True to form Wy tried to push him away but the island nation just grinned and trapped her in a bear-hug instead. She huffed and grunted a bit before settling down, comfortably wrapping her thin arms around his neck. Canada was giving him a sickeningly sweet smile from down the table and he heard Australia give a loud "awww!", but they could both just sod off.

"If you have a good reason then I don't mind, my darling." He soothed, wondering how sincere he was actually being even as he spoke. "So long as no one gets hurt and no laws are broken, then it's live and let live, you know?"

"So you won't get mad?"

"I might…" One had to be realistic when dealing with children, but England rubbed one hand up and down over Wy's back, and she squeezed him a little tighter. "But then I would forgive you."

"So you won't hate me?"

"Of course not." She was a 700-meter lot in an Australian suburb, what could Wy possibly do to make him that mad?

"Promise?"

"On my honour." She was being oddly quiet now, and England was beginning to wonder when the hug would end: neither one of them was very good with prolonged contact. "Wy?"

"Then I want a bike." Er, what? She wouldn't let go of him, and when England tried to turn his head a little he almost thought he heard a sniffle. Tears on Christmas Eve? "I want a blue bike with ribbons on the handles, something girly that Sealand won't try to steal." That boy. He was spending Christmas with Sweden and Finland this year, and England obliged the young Micro-nation by holding her a bit closer. He shook his head a little when India finally dropped an overflowing paper-plate of Christmas meats and pudding in front of him.

"Then grandpa will get you a bike." He said quietly, murmuring the words close to Wy's head so she could hear them through the laughter and cheer around them. "But first you have to dry those tears, love. It's Christmas."

Christmas with family…

Christmas with friends was a joy France had forgotten. In reality, maybe, it had only been another three-hundred and sixty-some days since the last Christmas Eve and the last night with exquisite food and friends, but it felt like much longer than that.

It felt like so long that France had invited anyone he could think of, a decision which had somehow backfired and left him with only three guests. It made sense of course: Germany had no intention of celebrating anything and Prussia wouldn't leave his side, and while China and Japan were working on some kind of cultural exchange and spending the holiday with one another. England and Canada had both expressed a greater preference to spend Christmas with the Commonwealth, America was simply not to be bothered with, and most of France's former colonies and the members of La Francophonie couldn't be reached on such short notice.

So he had Mademoiselle Monaco to entertain, along with Spain and, of all people, Portugal. At first the second Iberian had been a complete mystery to him, but France was happy to cook for whomever he could cook for. However, by the time they were finished with dinner France figured out why Portugal had come along: he didn't quite trust Spain to remain civil.

"He got into some kind of fight with Italy a few weeks ago and he's been like this ever since." This being sulky and absolutely horrible. Portugal confided in France only as the two of them were busy carrying dishes into the kitchen: France would wash them tomorrow, and he certainly wouldn't make his guests do the job in the meantime.

They were staying in a small chateau near Mademoiselle Monaco's home. France was quite fond of spending Christmas with the snow in the north, but hospitality meant selecting an appropriate location for his guests to feel most comfortable: and that meant south along the Mediterranean coast. Dim lights, assorted candles, perfect wine, candies and sweets, and gentle music all contributed to the warm, comfortable atmosphere in the private residence. For some strange reason when France and Portugal returned to the den, the quiet conversation between Monaco and Spain suddenly stopped.

Hmph. That would not do. Spain had been unnaturally quiet all evening!

"Oh my, should we leave and come in again?" France joked, grinning in the warm glow of the candles before realizing how nervous Monaco suddenly was. She pulled out her phone and immediately began swiping her thumb over the display, cycling through apps and other things to appear distracted. "Ma cherie?" Why was she doing that?

"Um, I'm just checking something." Monaco murmured, nudging her glasses up her slender nose before putting the device away. The Micro-nation in red was seated at the card table, an open deck of cards already out and no doubt shuffled from before. They'd hoped to play a few rounds of something fun before going to bed. For some reason, her light seemed dimmer than it had been during the meal. "Ah… Seborga says Merry Christmas."

Ah yes, big brother understood now.

"I'm sorry he couldn't come," France crooned, letting himself down lightly into the chair across the table from Monaco. "But you know I did invite him."

"Of course you did," the beautiful woman in red replied, looking at France as if he'd said something shameful. Monaco really didn't know the power of her own beauty sometimes, but before France could point it out to her, Spain spoke up instead.

"He's busy." Erm, did he not sound a bit testy as he said that? "Can't be helped." Oh my, such a dreary attitude for such a happy night.

"Must you be so miserable?" But Portugal was his friend's brother, so it was far more appropriate for him to make an effort to correct dear España's moodiness. For the nation of passion France hadn't seen his friend smile more than a handful of times since he'd arrived from Madrid.

"It's not that simple…" Oh? Mademoiselle wanted to defend this dower behaviour? France found this suspicious, no less so when Monaco tried to cover it by picking up the deck and reshuffling the cards. Sensing an opportunity to banish the heavy cloud that had settled over his prized holiday, France smiled across the table and then gestured for Portugal to take the seat next to him.

"How about a wager? If my friend Portugal and I can beat the two of you at a hand of cards, you will enlighten us?" He didn't feel the need to spell out the conditions, just like how Spain didn't look confused or ask him to clarify what he meant. Between Seborga's absence and a lover's quarrel with Italy, something was clearly bothering both of them.

"Which game?" But Monaco was easy to distract from such things, and her smile was a welcome reward for such tactics.

"Whichever Mademoiselle prefers, as long as España can keep up."

"I like those odds," she murmured, shuffling with a good deal more skill and vigor as Spain finally lifted himself off the couch and came over to join them. "And if we win?" Yes, a team card-game would be fun, not that France could think of any off the top of his head, but no doubt Monaco knew several.

"It is Christmas, no?" France grinned and checked the other two faces at the table. "You decide." Spain seemed only half-convinced of the idea, but Portugal started going pale as cards began to whisper across the table and form a neat pile in front of him.

It would be a good night.

"Sealand." Sweden was in no rush tonight. Christmas was always a busy time of year, but the busiest of all was always Christmas Eve for Finland. Santa's sleigh had taken off about half an hour ago, and now all Sweden himself wanted to do was make sure the boys were okay before going to bed. Finland would come home after he finished the Christmas run, and he had all the permissions and codes he needed to be safe across all national and international flight zones.

This left Sweden to make sure the boys went to bed on time, which was easy to do because on Christmas Eve no child deserved a bed-time. He'd done it this way for years and Finland had never found out, so shhh…

But boys could be hungry, and Sealand and Ladonia were in their room doing something with the computer. Hanatamago had gone out for half her walk, because it was cold and she was such a small dog it didn't seem right to make her go around the whole block. Half a walk was good enough (shhh, no telling Fin). Sweden had a tin of Christmas cookies for the boys to eat, because boys liked cookies more than the black liquorish Sweden had calmly buried under a patch of snow in the back yard (shhh…). He'd done it this way for years, and his wife had either never found out or it just wasn't important enough to argue about.

But shhh none-the-less.

"Ladonia." Cracking open the bedroom door, Ladonia always complained about having to share his room whenever Sealand came to stay with them, but the one time Sweden had made up the spare bedroom instead both boys had still slept side by side. So there was no point in doing that again, and Sweden wasn't surprised when he looked into the room and found both Micro-nations absorbed with Ladonia's laptop.

Kids these days. When Sweden had been small they'd walked on thin ice to see who would fall in first (Sweden hadn't liked that game…), or went hunting for bear pelts (a very scary game), or thrown rocks at wolves (a really, really, really, really stupid game).

Nevermind. Laptops were better.

"It's not fair…" Hmm?

"Why haven't they told Sweden or Finland yet?" Huh?

"Maybe he called Norway."

"Can you ask who's next?"

"I'll try next time I see him."

"Or Iceland maybe."

"Boys?" All this whispering, who hadn't told what yet? What did Norway know?

"AH!" Oh, Sealand did scream a lot like England sometimes, really girly and-

"DAD!" Yes? Why had they both jumped up like that?

"WE WEREN'T DOING ANYTHING, PLEASE DON'T GET MAD!" He wasn't mad.

"I'm sorry we'll go to bed right now just like Mama-Finland said!" But it was Christmas Eve…

"Look! Look! Sleeping!" Sealand didn't need to hide under the covers like that… um…

Closing the door again quietly, maybe he'd just leave the cookies out here, and go call Norway.

Yes.

He'd go wish Norway a Merry Christmas, and ask if Iceland was being weird about his laptop.

"Alright, c'mon you guys!" Prussia barked, hoisting up a box of decorations from West's garage. Why was everyone just standing around! "I didn't invite you guys here to just gossip like little girls, get a move on! This place has to be perfect before West gets home!"

It was cold outside, fresh snow on the ground and still lightly falling over the city of Berlin. Prussia knew his brother was still at work, Christmas Eve be damned, but he was going to make this house fucking Christmas-y if it killed him! West didn't want to celebrate Christmas this year? Tough shit. Prussia couldn't handle this anymore, he was going to make his brother smile at least once before the new year started.

"I assure you, my desserts have been perfectly prepared." Austria scoffed, sniffing his lavender hanky while Prussia popped open the cardboard flaps on the box and grabbed the sparkling silver garland meant to go around their living room. The Aristocrat had been busy baking, not that Prussia could verify that beyond the intoxicating smells wafting from the pristine kitchen and the bit of raspberry preserve on Kugelmugel's cheek. The boy-nation was busy setting up a Christmas village over West's fireplace mantel, but seemed distracted by the painted ceramic horse.

"But is all of this truly necessary?" Austria was so annoying sometimes…

"I don't even know why I agreed to come…" Switzerland grumbled, handing over another delicate little woodcraft decoration for his sister to hang on the tree. If Prussia hadn't known any better, he thought he saw Liechtenstein give a sniff before hiding behind the evergreen boughs looking for a place to hang the little robin.

"What the hell's wrong with you guys?" Prussia actually stopped when he noticed that Hungary wasn't looking at him, as in she was making a point of not looking at him. She'd been acting funny since she'd arrived too; rushing up to give him a lingering hug, kissing his cheek so carefully and not letting him ask why she was being so girlish. The red and green knit sweater Hungary was wearing didn't seem as cheerful as it should have been on her, like the festive colours didn't appeal to her. She kept plucking at it with her fingers, adjusting and re-adjusting a set of white candles on West's heavy dining room table.

It was suddenly very quiet in the house, something that Prussia couldn't stand after the last four months. He was okay with quiet in general, but not when there were people around. There was no reason for six nations to be completely silent when standing in the same room together, nobody was dead, no one was in trouble, and it was Christmas Eve for god's sake! What was wrong with everyone?

"Um… Is Mr. Germany running late tonight, Mr. Prussia?" Liechtenstein was really cute, but why wouldn't she come out from behind the tree? "Maybe he got a call from someone..?" The way Kugelmugel glanced at the other Micro-nation and made her trail off was disturbing. Austria's pet state wasn't the kind to get involved with things beyond the end of his paintbrush. The fact that he'd been dragged to Christmas Eve was weird enough, but to have him sending messages with just a look? The fuck was going on?

"What are you hiding?" God he wanted to think that maybe it was some kind of amazing and awesome gift. That was what Prussia wanted to believe.

"I'll go check on the torte. Kugelmugel, come."

"Big Brother I think this one's broken."

"Hey!" What was going on? Why were they being like this? Family and Hungary weren't supposed to be like this. West couldn't come home to people keeping secrets from him; Prussia'd rather pack up all the decorations and food than let that happen. Better no Christmas than a bad Christmas this year…

West couldn't handle a bad Christmas. West could barely handle a bad day at the office, so he couldn't come home to fake cheer and fake smiles and fake friends. Prussia wouldn't let another bad thing touch his little brother.

"You were all talking about something before I came back, now what was it!"

Hungary started rubbing her eyes and wouldn't look at him.

Switzerland didn't even bark at him for raising his voice.

Austria took both Micro-nations into the kitchen to hide.

What the hell was going on…?

San Marino would not be arriving until Christmas Day, and although Veneziano still wouldn't leave the house Papa went to celebrate Midnight Mass at Saint Peter's like he did every Christmas Eve. This left Veneziano and Seborga alone in the house until Romano finally, finally came home just after mid-night.

They'd made a few festive foods in the hours they were alone together, but in all it wasn't much of a Christmas until they heard the car pull up. No decorations on the walls, no extra lights or wrapping paper.

It was almost like any other night except for the hot coco Seborga cooked up for them, and the way Veneziano sat at the back door watching the silhouettes of their neighbours celebrate and laugh. He was better about watching people from behind the glass now, he could even, sometimes, stand just on the other side of the threshold. The main street still frightened him with its noise and activity, but the inner courtyard was alright for him.

Then they heard the car, and the voices, and for a few minutes Veneziano looked so torn up and afraid that Seborga almost told him to go upstairs, but he resisted. Veneziano had to get used to it, he had to be okay with people coming and going from the house.

"Think of it like Santa bringing gifts!" Seborga tried, grasping at straws to make things any easier. "Only instead of Finland or a jolly fat man, it's Romano." Err, that had sounded better in his head.

But ultimately, despite everything that could have gone wrong, Veneziano didn't panic when the door opened. He stood in the far corner of the living room, the place he'd decided granted him the widest view of the first floor, and he didn't move as the five nations came trudging and talking into their house, but he remained calm. Or calm enough at least.

Seborga still found it strange that Veneziano had requested the former Italian colonies, but he found it even weirder that they'd agreed to come. Romano looked utterly exhausted and weakly complained about the lack of decorations, saying it wasn't fucking Christmas without the house all done up, but beyond that he didn't seem to care about the holiday as he collapsed onto their couch without offering their guests a seat.

Not surprisingly, he was Veneziano's first priority. It wasn't until North Italy was completely satisfied with the clarity of South Italy's eyes and his temperature and the flush in his cheeks that the other nations registered for him. Before that they had simply been strange things and threats standing in their house.

There wasn't much talking after that, but Seborga did notice how the history didn't seem to get in the way of the other nations' reactions to Veneziano. The world wars and colonial conquests seemed to fade away, not completely, but just enough to let simple humanity reach out in the form of very quiet gestures and silent requests to touch or move about.

Veneziano stayed next to Romano the entire time, but he let his attention land squarely on each nation, treating them the same way he had all of the guests before them. He responded to questions and statements with gestures only, nodding or smiling when appropriate, and he showed off all the hundreds of ways someone could use their lips to speak without ever uttering a sound.

Somalia was the first one to ask the question that had been haunting them all for weeks:

"Please, why won't you speak?" Somalia had such dark skin, it was like God had buffed and polished him to the truest black he could find. He was a strong man, tall and with a proud back and shoulders. He also had a soft voice though, misleadingly quiet sometimes, and he was trying to find an even softer tone now. "Don't you have a single word you can use?"

Veneziano had heard this question before, and Seborga had never seen him give the same reaction twice. Sometimes he would stare blankly at the questioner before closing his eyes and pretending to sleep. Or maybe he would avert his eyes sadly, like he was ashamed, or just keep his face exactly the same and quirk his brows like he was waiting for the person to speak after a long silence. This time, of all things, Veneziano actually took a breath, held it with his lips parted, and then slowly, nervously, let his eyes slide away from Somalia and rest on Libya instead.

He made a gesture with his right hand, letting it rise and fall to indicate all the bruises and half-healed injuries on the other nation. Veneziano had already let Eritrea touch the white marks left on his face and express remorse over them, but now he was doing something Seborga hadn't seen before. He wasn't just changing the subject or asking something with his eyes, Veneziano was doing something political, and even Romano picked his head up to pay attention.

The question was complex: what was going on in Libya, and how was the revolution progressing?

"Um- well, it…" Veneziano hadn't wondered one bit about reconstruction efforts in his own territories, or made a move towards any newspaper or government form from Romano's office since he'd returned. This was the closest he'd come to engaging with the world outside the house in weeks, and when Libya stumbled and was slow on the up-take, Veneziano looked back at Eritea and Ethiopia where the two were standing as far as they could from one another without leaving the room.

It took several gestures this time, but they were carefully thought through and executed slowly with his right hand- although the left helped with its slower, jerking movements. Guns and landscapes and hitting: he was asking about their border disputes, and by extension he wanted to know how their relations were progressing.

No one could have expected this, Seborga was sure. Of all the people he'd asked and the few friends he'd told before it got this far, this change had never occurred to anyone. Veneziano was so broken, so fragile, so easily disturbed and terrified and exhausting just to look at, that this reaction to that question had never crossed Seborga's mind.

He'd never, not once, considered that his brother would remember himself as a nation before he tried living again as a human.

I've been bombarded with little plot-bunnies outside HetaOni all this week, so I have an important question for anyone who doesn't mind a couple spoilers for the end of Recovery. I'm stuck on a fence regarding content in chapters 23-25, and they determine the emotional tone of the closing chapters. Anybody up for lending the author a hand? It's just the one plotline, I'm not spilling everything, but I need heeeelp.

Either way, thanks for reading, guys!