Epica (Audiomachine), Decision of the Loved, My Heart Is Broken, Never Say Never.

whoops 12 hours early HAPPY GRAD TO MEEEEE~

Recovery

International Obligation

France had hoped, whimsically, that this conference would be the ice-breaker necessary to open some kind of dialogue with Italy. What had happened to all of them together was now half a year gone, it was time to stop silently feeling bad for one another and begin standing up and reclaiming their roles as ten of the world's most powerful and influential nations. France had hoped, however naively, that the conference in Hong Kong would be the next step down the long and winding road to recovery.

And as much as he hadn't been right, he wasn't quite willing to give up on that dream.

Italy had spent the entire morning staring blankly at every slide someone posted and wallowing in confusion at each page of the dossier. He'd fled the meeting room faster than anyone else now that lunch had been called, and this hadn't surprised France. Why would Italy linger when Spain was being petulant and had refused to offer even the slightest hint or clue to his supposed closest and dearest friend? Why would anyone stay in a meeting room with a human?

Canada had also fled, phone in hand and Russia following at a slow, stately pace that worried France, but he couldn't deal with it right now. Canada could handle himself, and Russia could be trusted not to hurt him.

Speaking of handling oneself, it made sense that Germany hadn't come within ten yards of Italy yet. To push him would be unkind and, unlike Spain's distasteful attitude, France could understand Germany's position. He did not want to see the Italian, speak to him, and probably not even hear his voice or acknowledge his presence, not yet. For Germany it had only been three months, not since the end of the mansion, but since the end of his Italy's desperate life.

The death of a nation was a terrible, painful experience. They all hated it and no one had coped in quite the same way. Whenever France found himself thinking too deeply on the matter his thoughts invariably shifted to the names they had revealed to one another, and in that state of mind Francis understood that it would take Ludwig many, many years to come to grips with the way Feliciano had died, and how Lovino had replaced him.

So they were going to have a very busy interlude today. Ludwig's behaviour was excused and Antonio needed a sound kick to the head, and Ivan could deal with Matthew. Yao and Kiku were busy trying to convince the American to leave the conference because he simply couldn't follow the discussion, no matter how hard he tried, and there was no sense being petulant about it.

Gilbert wasn't here and Lovino needed a minute to himself. And Francis had to take care of Arthur.

But,

Now, that statement didn't mean taking care of in the sense of wrapping the Englishman up in his arms and murmuring sweet nothings to him, because that only worked at specific times and this was certainly, positively not one of them. It also wasn't 'had to' as in Francis was actually obligated to follow and check on him; Arthur wasn't broken, not by any stretch of the word, but he was upset.

So nevermind that nonsense about Francis having to take care of Arthur. The truth was that Francis just wanted to see him.

"England?"

"What do you want?"

Green spaces were practically a requirement of world meeting places, even if the one here in Hong Kong was actually a concrete space. It was relatively quiet and the stone and metal art pieces performed the same function as trees and shrubs, providing privacy. It had been sunny out before they'd arrived, but now the February skies were grey with smog and clouds. Where was that cold wind coming from? France was certain this part of the world had always been much warmer…

"Ah, there you are." France laughed the words casually as if he hadn't already noticed England leaning on the concrete ledge at the edge of the space. It was rather like a rooftop garden, except they weren't on top of the building, and the only thing to look down on from the edge was the loud and noisy streets of the crowded city. "I was sure I'd find you out here."

It was nice to see England up and walking around again. Canes suited him as an accessory or decoration, but not as a walking aid, and the same had been said numerous times about the wheelchair he'd suffered in for several weeks. The experience had hopefully taught him not to abuse his strange magic anymore, but France was just happy that the Englishman could lean over the concrete and place his weight on his elbows like that, one leg bent with the toe of his shoe scuffing the solid grey. It was much better than seeing him in pain, even if he was still as cranky as ever.

"Did you need something?" Ah, and he was certainly being cranky as France sauntered up, shrugging with a smile although England could see neither gesture.

"Not particularly. Canada seemed quite upset by America's faux-pas this morning, so I-"

"Francis." Oh? How surprising of him to change the names like that, France was not used to having the shorter blonde bring up things from the place they did not speak of. "I want you to stop doing that."

Watching him turn around, Francis wasn't sure why Arthur was giving him such a stern look. Why the folded arms and bitter scowl? He really had to learn to take better care of those eyebrows of his, they were shadowing his green eyes. Before Francis could needle him with the familiar tease the Englishman's composure made him pause. Arthur looked so torn between anger and something else that Francis didn't want to interrupt him, he just waited to hear what else was to come.

Arthur took a breath and then held it, and after that he took a second breath and let both out through his teeth in a huff. Finally Francis couldn't stand it, so he asked:

"Stop doing what?"

"Stop bringing him up." Who? The him whose name Arthur couldn't even say? Francis didn't even have to repeat himself, Arthur was glaring at him enough already. He stuck one hand on his hip and the Frenchman felt the urge to slap down the hand that came up and pointed at his face. "I'm sick of every conversation we have turning into something about him. If I wanted to think about him every thirty seconds then I would my spend time with Canada, not you."

"Ohon, are you saying I am a distraction?" They both expected Arthur to make a sharp retort, because Francis was actively waiting for it, and Arthur's mouth popped open with one. His head was tilted just-so and there was a glint in his green eyes as he accepted the challenge. But then he didn't, and it was the strangest thing.

Arthur Kirkland of the United Kingdom straightened his head and closed his mouth, and the glint in his eyes faded until they were an unusually dark shade of green for him. He didn't look sad though, and when he looked at Francis it was in a very strange way, with his hands slipping into his jacket pockets in silence. No fists or finger-pointing, no sulking or scowling.

"Arthur?" This wasn't like him. Something was wrong again, but what was upsetting him like this? Why wasn't he alright yet? Why wasn't he completely better yet?

"That's not what I'm saying." What?

Arthur just shrugged but that wasn't enough. He was able to look straight at Francis and make his statement, but he didn't follow it up with anything. He wouldn't even make up his mind and decide whether to look angry or sad or upset. He just looked blank. Was lost the right word for that expression?

"Let's go back inside, Francis." Arthur looked so lost… "You wanted to talk to Italy, didn't you?"

Three days of this? Three days of this? Romano couldn't handle it, there had to be a way to wiggle out of and get as far away from this conference as possible.

'Calm down, calm down, calm down…' He splashed his face with cold water again and tried to get over the panic kicking around in his stomach, but when Romano looked up into the mirror, he knew he was in trouble.

He was an old nation, he was an old, first-world nation, fully modernized and industrialized and all the other –ized things. The problem was that while Italy had a big part to play on the world state, Lovino hadn't had to handle this level of politics in… well, a really fucking long time. Either it had been Spain's job during the pre and early-modern periods, or he'd just let Veneziano deal with the talks and do all the stuffy things since their unification. South Italy had always been the producer, the worker, the sweat and dirt labourer, not the politician or the logician.

Internal economic problems? Sure, he could deal with that. Internal policy and law-making were part of a nation's daily life. Romano could work in Rome just fine and he'd been handling it for months now, but all of this international shit? Japan had been speaking for a solid thirty minutes and Romano couldn't remember more than ten words he'd said in sequence. His notes from Korea's presentation were a jumble and a mess, and he didn't even know what Russia had been saying except something about electricity and polar bears.

Romano turned the tap back on, and this time he stuck his face right under the cold stream. Calm down, calm down, calm down. His boss and a bunch of his staff were in Hong Kong for their own brand of talks and conversation, so Romano would just blow-off the nations' parties and get-togethers and go talk to the beurocrats instead. Maybe he'd call home too, or maybe he'd just let Veneziano rest, he wasn't sure yet.

Romano just knew not to panic…

"Italy." –FUCK.

Shutting off the tap, Romano straightened up and groped for the paper towels sitting in the wall dispenser, shaking off his hands before wiping away the cold wet clinging to his eyelashes and chin. He looked over at the washroom door where it had just swung shut, and for a moment he almost called America a bastard for the stunt he'd pulled this morning by sending over that human.

But he couldn't say that, because it wasn't America standing there, it was Canada.

Oh…

"Look, before you-"

"Where is he?" Oh, this was not what Romano needed right now. Canada was all buttoned-up and trim in his grey suit, a red tie making the white collar of his shirt pop around his throat. He had one hand in his pocket and the other resting on the long counter that stretched the length of the bathroom, his reflection in the tall mirror highlighting how deep his frown was. He didn't look- "The last time I saw him was at your house, now tell me where you're keeping him."

"If he hasn't told you then-"

"Don't patronize me, Italy!" Romano put his hands up as soon as Canada's voice rose above its usual soft murmur. He wasn't shouting, but the blonde with Russia's purple eyes never had to shout to make his point. "His office keeps re-routing me to that human delegate we met this morning, his phone is off, I've been trying to track him down since New Year's and you-"

"Don't blame me for this, I sent him home before Christmas!"

"Then what did you do to him!"

Romano turned away. He wasn't going to get into a bathroom fight with Canada, that was not how this was going to go down. The Canadian could stand there and body block the door all he wanted: it was a public washroom and there was another one right behind Romano so that was where he went. More shaken than he'd admit, he briefly calling back over his shoulder with:

"I gave him two weeks without you, so if he doesn't want to talk then take a hint." It was just one more problem on Romano's heaping plate, and if he didn't have to track down America then he wouldn't. If it would make everyone calm down then maybe, just maybe, Romano would try calling his house in Naples. He couldn't imagine America going there already, but it would only take him a few minutes and cost a couple Euros to find out for sure.

"Italy!" No, damn it! Romano had his own brother to worry about! "Don't walk away from me when I ask you a-"

"I'll walk away until you start asking questions I can answer!" Pulling open the second door, Romano barely saw the person standing right in front of him before Canada got a hold on his arm and wrenched him back. His shoulders hit the open door and held it there, Canada's fists pressing him in place as Romano poured every ounce of his self-control into not swiping his hand across the other nation's face as he was assaulted.

"What do you know?" Canada hissed.

"Get your hands off of me."

"Not until you tell me-"

"Canada!" That accented voice sent an uncomfortable bolt down Romano's spine, but Canada nearly jumped before Romano took his wrists and dragged the kid's hands down off his lapels. "Do I even want to know?"

Judging by Germany's tone, no, he didn't want to know what this was, and Romano was fine with not explaining it. He gave Canada a stern glare so he wouldn't have to look at the third nation, watching the younger blonde lower his eyes and rub his hands together uncomfortably. Romano wasn't stupid: Canada almost never lost his temper, and he certainly never put his hands on someone without a damned good reason. But that didn't excuse him, it just made it harder to stay mad.

Romano knuckled.

"Before I sent him home he kept going on about his property in some state of his," as much as it sucked to help someone who wasn't high on Romano's list of friendly nations, he couldn't help himself. "Memfus or something. You know him better than I do, you figure it out."

"I… I didn't think of that." Canada murmured softly, still staring straight down at the tiles under his feet. "Thank you, um, please excuse me…"

Romano could have demanded an apology, but it was better for all of them that the Canadian just get away as fast as he could. That way, when it was just Germany and Romano left standing there the Italian could straighten his jacket with a tug and let himself out with just a polite nod in the other nation's direction. No fuss, no mess, no-

"Italy."

- damn it…

Romano stopped walking. He hated himself for waiting so calmly for something he didn't know how to handle.

"Yeah?" He let himself pivot slightly on his toe, placing his hands in the grey pockets of his jacket without straightening the black tie where he knew it was crooked under his chin. He saw Germany standing there with his back to him still, the charcoal grey of his suit showing how slumped his shoulders had become over the last few months. There were slivers of grey in the short blonde hairs running down the back of his head and neck, and without even seeing his face Romano heard the exhaustion in one little word.

Germany's state right now had nothing to do with his power-house economy or financial master-plan. He was flagging like the rest of them, only worse because his people couldn't understand what the problem was. The cost of a nation's heartache was disenchantment for his citizens. It was that silent, hopeless questioning of what it's all for when the progress feels so slow and the work keeps piling up. Working for the sake of keeping busy could only sustain someone for so long before they gave up, and working just for the sake of not giving up was hardly any better.

"Spain…" The way Germany sighed the name was accurate, Romano kept struggling to say it right himself. "He said you had something you wanted to tell me?"

"Is that right?" Germany glanced back at him and Romano wondered where he'd left his energy. The one blue eye he saw looked so washed out and exhausted it was almost the wrong colour. "Yeah, I guess you could say I do."

The hallway was quiet, everyone had probably drifted down to the dining room on the floor below to freshen up and eat something while their break lasted. An hour was the usual length of time given for delegates, Romano wasn't sure how it worked for the humans. If he wanted to, or rather, if he was comfortable enough to, Romano could have told him everything right here and not had to worry about anyone else hearing him.

But he didn't know how he'd start. Being a bit like himself was one option, "Hey, bastard, stop frowning everywhere with that ugly potato face of yours, my brother hates it when you do that!", or maybe he'd read into the atmosphere and continue in the same kind of quiet, almost hesitant voice Germany was already using; "Follow me and just promise you won't cry,".

But if he told him… Now here would be the problem: what next? What after that? Veneziano hadn't asked for this nation yet. He hadn't asked for any of the Mansion's victims, and he'd actually taken steps to prevent their names from coming up. If Romano told Germany anything, it would have to include a ban on him visiting Rome…

Could he do that?

Could he look someone in the eye who was so heart-broken, so devastated, and in so much pain and say to him: "The person you're mourning can't stand to think about you. He hates the sound of your name, he changes topics to avoid you, and the thought of you ever showing up outside the house to see him shakes him more than planes or artillery ever could." Could he really do that?

"Italy?" Germany was waiting for an answer, but Romano didn't know what he was supposed to say.

"Not yet." He didn't have an answer yet, he just didn't know what to say. "You don't need to know yet. It's not state business, so…"

"Then it's not important." Germany picked different words from the ones Romano had been struggling for, but he had to agree with a solemn nod. It was important, but not yet…

"Right…"

Not yet…

The day was long, and slow, and by the time Canada found himself sitting down to dinner he was too exhausted to do more than pick at his elaborately prepared meal. Hong Kong had gone all out to serve a feast in the dining room, and Canada knew he and China were both circulating to make sure everyone was happy and satisfied with their meal, but he just couldn't stomach the sparkling wines or heavy sauces right now.

"Come now, old boy it's not that bad." Easy for England to say…

"You're being entirely too hard on yourself." That was sweet, France, but ultimately false.

"You're not the ones who lost their temper…" He answered sullenly, nudging a piece of braised pork across his plate. "I still can't get over it…"

"But that's not what happened at all." Russia chirped, and Canada glanced up as a fork speared the piece of meat he'd been playing with, the other nation happily popping it in his mouth with a smile.

Hey, get your own pork…

"I slammed him against a wall…" Oh god he felt horrible just remembering it! Setting his chopsticks down for a moment so he could wallow in it, Canada swung out his foot and gave France a kick under the table when he saw another fork creeping in towards his plate. England jumped and passed the blow along as a smack on the arm. "Italy of all people."

"If you had lost your temper, Canada, you would have slammed Italy through the wall." At least Russia was trying to make him feel better, and Canada nudged his glasses up his nose so he could rub his eyes. He was so tired; the flight to China was always one of his least favourites… "And he seems to have taken it well, not one menacing glare from his table all night."

"…Have you been keeping a look out, Russia?" England asked, Canada looking up in time to catch an uncomfortable smile on the other nation's face. Russia just grinned and France cleared his throat, nodding over Canada's shoulder at the table in general.

"He seems fine…"

The dining room was a sparkling chamber filled with rhinestones and gold drapes. It resonated with that 1930s charm updated to the 21st century with chrome pieces and art nouveau decorating the spaces between tables. When Canada glanced back through the goldenrod patterns and black-tie formalwear, he found Italy sitting at a table with Switzerland and Austria, Poland chattering quickly at the three of them about something important. They were all nodding in agreement, except Italy, who was scowling and shaking his head no.

He didn't seem interested in glaring knives at Canada's back, but when the blonde looked back down at his plate he noticed a sizable portion of his rice was now missing.

He kicked England again and this time he hit who he intended.

"Well, what do you think of- erm…" That was strange. France started off strong with whatever he was going to say but then trailed off with a funny look at England. Canada watched his two former colonists share a strange moment, and then with a laugh and a smile France set his cutlery down neatly on top of his plate. "Nevermind, foolish question."

"What were you going to ask?" France scooted his chair back as Canada chased him with the question, and England snorted into his ice-water before ignoring the topic completely. Russia was apparently more perceptive than him tonight, and immediately made the connection.

"I think he was going to ask about our American friend." Oh, him.

"Is he still around?" Canada asked, glancing at England and France again as the latter stood up, straightening his black suit-jacket.

"I think I saw China speaking to him a minute ago. Where are you going, France?" While Russia answered his question, Canada began plucking up pieces of his meal before anyone else could steal them. His appetite wasn't back completely, but on principle he wouldn't allow the entire table to mooch off his plate.

"To speak with our fair Italia." France sighed, adding a whimsical note to what could otherwise have been a heavy topic.

"You still haven't spoken to him?" England piped up, glaring up at him while Canada watched them interact. It was nice to see them behaving normally. "What have you been up to all day? You said you were going to bring something up before our afternoon continued, and then you tried again before we came down for dinner!"

"Well, unlike you my scruffy friend," Ah, France was annoyed. Canada could eat in peace when he saw the tension needle his Papa's cheeks and stress his face just so. "I happen to put a great deal of thought into when and how I approach someone in these matters."

"These matters my foot! You're just a coward!"

"Better a coward than a rosbif-"

"Are you finished?" Russia cooed softly, apparently very pleased as Canada cleaned up a portion of his remaining dinner before France and England could escort one another, hissing and bickering, across the dining room floor and out into the hall. "There's dessert if you like."

"I think I'm about ready for bed, actually." Dabbing his lips with his napkin, Canada set the bundled linen down on his plate, checking his watch quickly while Russia draped a comfortable arm over the back of his chair. It was eight in the evening here in Hong Kong, so… "But it's still pretty early in Memphis, so I guess I have some time to kill." Giving a… quaint little smile, Canada looked up to see what the other nation thought of having an hour or two free before going to sleep. Intercontinental flights were long and meetings were boring, but conferences themselves could be rather… fun?

But not this time around, because Russia's eyes only lit up for a moment before he remembered something and glanced across the dining room again. Canada felt a light pinch of disappointment before he followed his lover's gaze and found China grinning at them from two tables away.

"I think our host wanted to talk to you first…" Bless Russia for sounding so disappointed when he said that. His tone made it that much easier for Canada to gently set a hand on his thigh and give an affectionate rub. Later maybe, or tomorrow, there was no rush.

Canada sat up with a smile and folded his hands neatly in his lap as China swept across the floor towards them, his ageless face filled with amusement and an ill-concealed sense of pride at how well his guests were being treated.

No rush, Canada repeated. He would track down America after listening to the deals China wanted to whisper in his ear…

DONE.

I'm an ESL teacher~ I'm an ESL teacher yay!