Epica, False King, Tristan, Warlords, Tristan and Isolde, Decision of the Loved, World So Cold.

Edits performed and uploaded October 7th. Happy Canadian Thanksgiving!

Recovery

The Strongest Bond

"Please have a seat." Japan entered the small room adjacent to his home office, gesturing to the warm kotatsu already turned on and waiting for them to make themselves comfortable. The low wooden table sported a white blanket around the edge, soft cushions on the spring-like floor providing extra comfort as the two nations settled under the heater. "I must admit, I was surprised you wanted to detour here to my home instead of returning to Europe."

Spain just smiled at him from across the table, adjusting the blanket over his lap before folding his hands carefully on the wooden surface. He looked tired after their week in Hong Kong, but at least the flight from China's territory to Tokyo had been relatively brief. Spain was in need of a shower and some rest, so hopefully he would eat well tonight once Japan's assistant finished ordering their dinner- he made a point of not cooking on nights when he returned from overseas! And then Spain could rest well in the guest bedroom, and leave refreshed and ready for his flight home tomorrow morning.

But today, after their journey which had only taken one time-zone to complete, Spain had something important to discuss. He'd said on the way here that it could not be shared in Hong Kong, but now in the comfort of Japan's home it seemed safe.

"I…" But that didn't mean Spain could simply come out with it, because he averted his green eyes and took note of the potted fern Japan had growing in the corner. "I think I should begin with an apology."

"What for?" Japan returned the tired smile the other nation was wearing, a little uncomfortable kneeling in his suit, but he could change later. "I understand there was some tension between yourself and Mr. France, as well as Mr. Italy, but none of it seemed too far out of hand." As much as Japan might not have liked admitting it, watching two nations come to blows over some unknown matter wasn't too out of the ordinary.

"Because…" Spain tugged at the red tie looped around his throat, loosening the knot before Japan reached up for his own, leading the way so his guest knew it was alright to let appearances slip right now. This was a social meeting, wasn't it? Spain's boss and entourage had already left for Madrid. "Because I know in some eyes, what I'm about to do will seem selfish."

"Are you referring to your quarrel with Mr. France?"

"No." The European coiled the silk tie around his fingers, slowly looping it around and folding it into a bundle to stuff in his pocket. His coat had been hung up when they arrived, but his suit still looked neat despite their travels. "It's Romano I'm having difficulties with," Romano… it was uncommon to refer to Italy by that second name now. "Which is why I needed to talk to you."

"I will be honest with you, Italy and I have not spoken much over the last few months." It was a tender issue at the moment, but one Japan had been allowed to get away with thanks to the hectic economic climate in southern Europe. His government didn't expect him to make many gains from Italy, so there was no push from above for him to go and bother his one-time ally for consumer product deals and long-term trade. His economic health was in the EU's hands now, not Asia's.

"What about Germany?" Oh, now that was something Japan was more comfortable with answering. Yes, of course he had spoken to Germany, they had dined together several times during the conference. "Is he doing alright, for now?"

"For now, yes. I suppose." The way Spain phrased the question was troubling, not because of some cryptic allusion but because of the truth. Japan drummed his fingers on the dark wood in front of him, adjusting the blanket a bit more so the warm air beneath the kotatsu could heat him a bit more. February was fading and March would bring warmer weather soon, but for now it felt a bit cold in the house. "Valentine's day was… very difficult."

"I heard he spent it here with you." Yes. Germany had not wanted to remain in Berlin, so with Japan's permission he'd flown to Asia for a few weeks just prior to the conference. He'd worked like a dog so he didn't have to notice Japan's spin on the western celebration, and had only lost his composure once when Japan accidentally caught himself looking at something he'd tried to hide…

The list of "things to do at Japan's house after we escape!" was hanging on the wall behind Spain's head, and Japan's eyes drifted to it now. He'd taken and hidden it away in a drawer in his office while Germany was here, because something about the long white sheet had stuck out eerily when he found out Germany was coming. Sleep overs, saucepans, yukata and pillow fights. It was a happy, almost nonsensical list that hurt a little bit to read right now, but instead of only stinging the sight of it had blown Germany's wounds wide open.

Even Italy was coping with his brother's death better than Germany. He hadn't been forthcoming on the topic when Japan had mentioned it in Hong Kong, but he had only gone very quiet, not crumbled to tears and wordless pain.

"Japan, you've been keeping an eye on how money is moving in Europe at the moment, right?" Spain's voice pulled Japan out of the memories, letting the traditional tatami style of the room sooth him with calmer thoughts and his guest's immediate concerns.

"Of course. With America being so fickle lately, it's been for my own benefit. I have been making arrangements with Canada as well, but-" Spain waved his hand.

"No no, this isn't about North America, just Europe. Do you know the kind of role Germany has in the Union?"

"I'm not ignorant." Really, what kind of question was that? "Why?"

Spain's appearance had grown stern. Normally he had such a care-free look on his lean face, emphasized by the rampant bed-head and the way his black curls never sat the same way twice over his expressive eyes. It was rare to see him sit so straight, or with hands perfectly still in his lap, and even without his tie he seemed more set in his ways than Japan was used to dealing with. He took a deep breath, and began again:

"I'm sorry, Japan." Why? For what? "But Germany needs to know sooner rather than later. I've tried talking sense into Romano and he just won't listen to me." Why did he keep calling Italy by that name? There was no need to distinguish- "If there's even a chance he's right about this then I can't go to Germany myself, but I can't shake the feeling that if we leave everything to the last minute then it really will break him." Japan stopped asking questions in his mind, and he just let himself listen. "Portugal and I have just been granted bail-outs that we desperately needed, and I know Romano wants the same thing, but if all of this stress pulls Germany under then it will have been for nothing."

"Please, Spain." Spain was tense, and the more he spoke the more Japan recognized that he was starting to get angry. This topic was upsetting him and that, in turn, was upsetting the host. "Why don't I prepare something for us to drink? Perhaps some tea would be-"

"Japan Romano is lying to everyone: Veneziano isn't dead, North Italy's been in Rome for months."

He… What?

No.

No that-

"I've seen him myself. He's wretched, and Romano just won't-"

"Stop." Stop, stop, stop this. "Not again, Spain. I won't go through this again."

"Japan-" He raised a hand to cut off his guest, closing his eyes because the list hanging on his wall was reflecting the light back at him, glaring with white brilliance and the faded stain of blood.

"I will listen, just- stop." Stop. Stop and just- don't. "Italy… would not lie about this. He is my friend."

He didn't want to open his eyes again, but Japan made himself do it. He expected a scowl to mar Spain's face and for the European's anger to boil over and create an awful mess, but he was wrong to think that way. Instead, the look on Spain's face was pained and upset, his heart on his sleeve as he just watched and shook his head slowly.

"He was more than my friend, Japan, and he's a liar."

He hadn't known he knew them.

The woman in Florence: the one from the dark, bullet-riddled place and the smell of spilled wine and spoiled food. The one who yelled at the poison and tended the children.

The mother in Milan: from when the sunlight had peered through the wreckage, a gunshot in the haze of arson smoke. The one who stopped them on the dark street and said "you saved my son's life", and brought them home with her. The one who served them more food at her husband's table than they could eat, and who took great pains in cleaning and pressing the uniform pulled from Romano's closet. The woman with the son who asked what the difference was between an Officer and an Enlisted, because he was only sixteen but he still knew that he wanted to join the military.

The Chief Airman told him he should build models and fix things: become good with his hands.

The Captain told him he should read books, as many as he could find: become good with his thoughts and his words.

The General told him he should learn to cook: because the people at your table were the ones you should fight for.

They all told him to join the Air Force, and the next morning they found the banker in Turin.

It was the banker from Verona: the one with the little girl's tears and hands shaking in fear. The one who worked behind a desk with a darkness over his shoulders. The one who said "I know nothing" while slipping a card with toxic names to him in confidence.

He hadn't known he knew them, but he did, and he didn't know how in a dream they could still love him.

Monday arrived with stress and phone-calls, but Romano wasn't about to leave the San Reno hospital unless he had to.

He knew from Papa that Veneziano had gone off the map, but then he'd learned from Veneziano yesterday that he'd been en-route to Milan for who-the-fuck-knew-why. That had all been consolidated yesterday, and the nerves Romano still felt stabbing his gut when he thought about what his brother was seeing or experiencing in his cities kept him from trying to call him. It was nothing short of a miracle that Veneziano was willing to text him, and Romano just wasn't willing to try pushing for a phone-call.

His brother hadn't called him out on anything yet, but the storm was coming, he could feel it. It just got worse when he realized from his brother's sparse, briefly-worded texts that while he was swooping across his territories he'd missed the entire Veneto region by a mile. He reached Florence, Bologna, Modena, Parma, and then he'd spend the night in Milan and left early today for Turin. He couldn't have been lingering for more than an hour in each city if, by noon on Monday, he was on the barely restored E717 highway headed south.

Romano didn't know if he was going to continue west to San Reno or cut east to Genoa before doubling back, but he didn't want to ask. The humans he was travelling with, because there had to be humans, must have been dead on their feet by now.

"Shut it down." Between texts to and from Veneziano, Romano was on the phone. "This is an order from General Vargas: shut it down and arrest everyone involved! I don't care who they are."

He was starting to find the hospital claustrophobic, which was why it was nice that Seborga asked for one of his friends to come see him. The almost-American and the not-British boy were still around, because they knew when to shut up and stay out of his face, but the Pseudo-Australian was back on his way home after the Commonwealth nation who owned him had verbally wrestled him into submission: something about passports.

Smoking was a bad habit that didn't affect their kind, so Romano was indulging in one of the few things that actually helped keep him calm in a crisis. Not that this was really at crisis level anymore- except for the gunmen who were at large and the dead-ends they were running into identifying the scum-bag in the morgue. He didn't even know which organization they were dealing with, nevermind the family.

Even if he wanted to investigate it himself, Romano found his instructions to the men cracking down on the so-called Seborgan "Referendum" interrupted by a call from Japan.

But, family or friends? Family. He ignored the call and went back to pacing back and forth outside the hospital doors, giving instructions and finally hanging up once things were underway. Technicalities rarely worked with these kinds of organizations, but there was a chance this time, and it was a good one: can't hold a vote like this without consultation in Rome, or something. Romano wasn't even sure what the excuse was anymore. Maybe they'd just arrest everyone on suspicion of murder because there was a dead woman involved now. No charges would be filed for Seborga's assault, but Monaco would want answers for her daughter.

He didn't honestly care how it happened so long as it ended the way he wanted, because when he saw that military jeep coming up the hospital's long drive Romano couldn't afford another blunder right now.

He crushed his cigarette under one foot and breathed out the last of the smoke in his lungs, hurrying under the bright winter light so he was standing at the edge of the sidewalk. It was hard to see through the jeep's tinted windows, but as the vehicle rolled to a stop the passenger-side door popped open and Romano saw exactly who he expected.

The uniform was a jarring, but Papa had warned him about that already. It was the cane that surprised him. There wasn't anything special about it: just black metal with a rubber stopper on the end and a straight handle at the top. Veneziano didn't rest all of his weight on it the way England had hobbled around on his for months, it was just there to touch the pavement and keep him steady as he climbed down from the high seat inside. He was wearing the same style coal-black wool coat Romano had on, but he actually had the uniform underneath that went with it: Romano had only taken his because it was the warmest one he'd owned for the trip to Hong Kong.

"He's just this way, I-" Romano expected his little brother to storm right past him without a word, or maybe push him aside and walk off with disdain, but Veneziano looked him straight in the eye instead. His brother didn't like direct eye-contact, it unnerved him too easily now, but he just stood there and looked right at him. It brought them both to a standstill and for a moment Romano didn't know why he heard the jeep still making noise, but then there was a human standing next to them.

Romano tried to look at the man in the uniform, but Veneziano's hand reached out and touched his shoulder before he got half-way there. He looked for judgement, anger, and maybe even a bit of hate in the dark brown hovering in front of him, but his brother just stood there with his lips slightly parted, and Romano felt his gaze slowly trickle down his face, taking in his appearance like it frightened him.

When Veneziano reached up for his nose it confused him even more, but then the sun started shining in his eyes and everything was washed in the white glare reflecting off the building behind them.

"Shit, I forgot." The sunglasses, they'd found a comfortable spot on his nose to sit and he hadn't taken them off all day. Blinking rapidly trying to make his eyes adjust, Veneziano visibly relaxed, soothing himself to a point where he seemed calmer than he'd been in months. It didn't make any sense and it certainly wasn't fair, but it eased a bit of the guilt still pooling in Romano's heart. The sympathetic look his little brother gave him was just confusing though, what did he have to look sorry for?

"I know this is my fault." And he knew he had to fix it. Romano would find time somewhere to prep for that next summit in London in three weeks' time, but he'd handle this first. Taking care of problems here for his brothers would be his first priori-

"Did you… try?" It- the world just stopped for a moment. The sun became so bright and the rattle of the engine nearby drowned him in noise. And he couldn't think, Romano only stared.

Veneziano didn't repeat his question, he was just watching him. None of the concern leaked out of his eyes or faded as he stood there, but he did begin to slowly rest his weight on the cane he was holding. Romano couldn't think past the way those words had almost sounded like they belonged to him. The accent had been right, the emphasis all there, but the words were like something familiar all covered in sand, and once he moved beyond the simple sound of them their meaning began to hurt.

"You-" His eyes were tearing up and Romano couldn't stop it, something about being an easy read and- "Captain-" he could barely read the shoulder marks through the liquid screen stinging his eyes, but he managed it. "You're dismissed. Go anywhere." Anywhere at all, he didn't care. The human made a motion like a salute and Veneziano touched his chin to make Romano look at him again, or try to look, his face was all a big blur now.

"Of course I tried…" He whispered, because his throat was closing up and he couldn't keep his voice level, it broke half-way through the whimper. "I'm still trying." He'd never stopped- "I didn't want this, so every single day, I-" Veneziano brought both hands up to cup his face, and Romano closed his eyes when he felt his brother's forehead press against his.

"Then you tried…" And his tears just started coming, and he couldn't stop them. He'd tried and he'd failed because he just wasn't good enough for this- "So don't stop."

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…" They were in his cities and his towns, they were in his industries and buying up his properties, they were choking and flooding and starving his markets all at the same time. They were making him sicker and weaker than the Mansion and the Monster could have ever hoped, and it was all Romano's fault, and he couldn't even try squeezing him tight in a hug to keep him all together. "I'm trying, I'm trying I swear to God- I knew it was happening but I didn't know how to stop it- I don't know how to stop it, Veneziano. I'm sorry, and I-"

His brother kissed him. It was lips to lips and it was the most affectionate touch his little brother had given him in months. It was innocent like children who didn't know what kissing meant, just that one was hurt and the other wanted to help, because that was what this moment was. Romano just wanted to keep his eyes closed and be the one to fall asleep this time, because it was his brother brushing away the tears, and he was the one who slowly took away the comfort of those lips. His brother wouldn't hug but he would kiss him, and he kept holding Romano's face and kept him close, not close enough, but it was all he was allowed to have.

Romano heard a plastic click, and he pulled his face away a little bit when he felt something dull pushing against his temples. He didn't get a chance to wipe the tears from his eyes before the sunglasses were put back in place, his fingers knocking the lenses sideways as he tried to pull the water off his lashes. It hurt, but he was okay with seeing the wet shine on his brother's eyes before the shades slid back into place. Veneziano looked like he was weighing something in his mind, the lump in his throat moving up and down a few times before he pulled his lips apart again and spoke.

"They… look good." It was more like a whisper, but it was words. It was something Veneziano was saying to him, and after too many months of silence Romano leaned in to kiss his brother's cheek in thanks.

"Do you want to see him?" The fog of concern seemed to burn away when he asked the question. Veneziano straightened up slightly, eyes widening like he'd forgotten why he was here, and he nodded quickly. Romano reached down for his hand and he watched his little brother tug his hat back in place where it had nearly fallen off his head when their faces touched. Veneziano had hooked the cane over his right elbow and maneuvered it back into his grasp now, already comfortable with it and ready to go.

Despite the General's star he was wearing or the cigarette smoke still clinging to Romano's clothes, they threaded their fingers together like children and one brother led the other inside.

It was… The most uncomfortable conversation Japan had endured in a very long time. That Italy had not answered any of the numbers Japan called trying to defer and end it did not help matters.

"Please leave." But he tried to smile through it, and he accepted Spain's apologetic nod, watching the floor and the shadow he cast as he slowly lifted himself up. There was no further good-bye, no well-wishes or 'have a safe flight home' from Japan. He simply sat there, and Spain simply left, and Japan just tried to organize what he had heard and rationalize what he had been told.

Despite the awkward hour to go making phone calls, once Spain was out of his house and on his way back home to Europe, or a hotel, he didn't care, Japan wandered into his home office. He picked up the phone on his desk and he began dialing a number he trusted, because it had to be someone he trusted right now.

"Heracles?" He even skipped straight to the name he needed, which showed how important this was with only one word. "I'm glad you had a safe flight home." Breathe, breathe, he was not panicking again. This scar was too old to hurt the same way: he was not feeling his own pain right now, this was the agony of sympathy.

"Yes. I would love to visit Athens soon." But he would have to visit Berlin first. "No… Not this month." But he would not be rash about this. "Or maybe, I-" To act hastily would not help anyone… would it? "I… Please, help me."

Just help him… be a good friend.

"Nations are asking about you." He didn't move from his brother's side as Romano spoke, he just held Seborga's hand in his lap, his thumb brushing against the sleeping one's chin. He'd been awake before, he'd spoken and he'd cried like Romano, trying to tell him how sorry he was for something that wasn't his fault. Now Seborga was exhausted and sleeping with both of his brothers at hand to watch over him. "The ones who know. They're getting anxious to tell the rest."

Shaking his head slowly, he knew why Romano wanted to talk about this, but he didn't agree. He didn't want what those other faces and names wanted, and he felt, selfishly, that he didn't have to do what they said.

He wanted to protect this. This was more important to him than that, than them. He didn't hate this, he wasn't afraid of this, of these ones; they didn't hurt him.

"I don't know which way to look first, Veneziano…" Romano was sitting down on a chair next to the bed, whereas he had one leg hitched up on the mattress next to Seborga. He'd taken off his jacket and tunic, his hat and gloves resting with the cane near the small night table. Romano looked so frail and tired, and he sounded like he was about to fall asleep … "That's all I need, just point me in a direction. If I keep half-assing everything like this then nothing's going to get done." Then the answer was simple and made sense:

"I don't…" it just hurt to say. He didn't want to speak too much. He hated how much he was tempting fate, teasing it like it was a beast that wouldn't bite him once his guard was down. "Don't want to see them. I don't." His throat hurt, it wasn't his heart or his emotions: his throat hated working to make sounds.

"I wasn't going to throw you on the Security Council, but-"

"I can feel the cancer." He didn't want to make his brother 'shut up', he just wanted to say what they both knew he'd been hiding, what he'd been enduring for months. "It hurts..." He pulled his left arm against his gut, against the hard flesh hiding under his skin and splitting the muscles. If there was a Stage Five for cancer, he had it: the first four didn't count at this point. Rampant, painful growths couldn't kill a nation any more than hypothermia, starvation, or heat. But the tumours hurt, and the crimes they represented were agony.

"I'm used to what they do…" Romano had lived with all of the syndicates and organizations for decades, centuries: since Spain's time at least. They'd kept him weaker and sluggish, but his pain was old. "I don't want you to get used to it, but we have another problem." Money. But they'd always had that problem.

They had to find the money to invest in destroying the mafia, or the camorra, or whoever else was corrupting the south, but the crime kept the money out of government coffers. It had just never been this bad before… He'd always had industry and power in his territories, there had always been enough wealth between them that, even if he couldn't fix the problem the North could at least ease the South's burden. But now that protection was gone, and one by one his industries were collapsing into Mafia hands before the government could even try and rebuild them.

"I want them… dead." It was extreme, but he was being eaten alive: what else was he supposed to do? Looking from Seborga's sleeping face to his older brother's exhausted eyes, he watched Romano blink and slowly sit up in his chair. "All of them." All of the maggots burrowing into his flesh, eating him from the inside out and forming sacs of pus and dead tissue in his body.

"We passed laws against that. We can't just break down their doors and arrest them."

"Repeal the laws…" Romano rubbed one hand over his face, but he didn't protest. Force. He wanted force: he'd promised it and if they acted against him one more time, he would destroy them. He'd break down the doors and he wouldn't just arrest them: he'd shoot them on sight.

"We would need a new boss." Then find one. "You picked the last one." Then Romano could choose the new one. "And what do I tell Europe if the Republic of Italy falls under martial law? Dictator is a dirty word."

That question… that one was not as simple. He found himself looking back down at his younger brother's sleeping face, tracing one finger along the medical tape covering his eye and feeding up along his shaved head. Romano said it was healing, but it still looked like too much trauma…

"Let's make a deal." Deal? "If I can find the money, you will lead the police and follow our laws to get rid of them. Trials, evidence, and jail sentences." He didn't like that deal, it hadn't worked when he'd been the one handling the money. "And if I can't, then I let you nominate the boss you want and if I like him, we choose him and we go that route. No marching on Rome without me this time, Veneziano: either we agree, or we don't do this." That… seemed so slow…

Romano stood up and walked over to him, setting a hand on his shoulder before reaching down to take Seborga's hand from his lap. He watched his brothers' fingers twine together, stealing comfort from the proximity of so much family.

"A revolution will kill him faster than the Mafia." When had Romano become so good with words? "His own prince is working against him. If we want to protect him, we have to be careful." And being careful meant being slow. It meant following laws that weren't working and letting the pain in his flesh sink down deeper into his bones.

But it also meant keeping everyone alive. It would hurt him, but he'd made the mistake of saving himself before.

"I won't die again." But he might wake up before he could do anything. Was he willing to risk that now? "They won't take me." If it would protect this family…

"If anyone tries, they'll answer to me. I'll handle the politics, you can count on me this time." And if the infection tried to harm his brothers like this again from the inside, he would cut their family's losses and bring a revolution. "Do we have a deal?"

He looked from Seborga's sleeping face to the clasped hands in front of him. It wasn't a hard decision, but he hesitated. It was strange.

But then he took Romano's hand off his shoulder and he kissed the back of his brother's knuckles. He held that hand against his face for a few more moments, closing his eyes when Romano tugged his fingers free only to turn them and gently cup his face against his palm. The gesture was small, but it radiated affection.

The strange feeling turned into comfort and he laid down next to his little brother, curling his good arm under his head and draping the other over his sibling's chest, his nose touching Seborga's warm cheek. He watched the youngest one sleep beside him, and trusted the eldest to stand tall and keep watch with a warm hand on his shoulder.

Deal.

"Who are they?" Go anywhere hadn't been much of an order, and Captain Rossi found himself drinking coffee next to Sergeant Volpato. Bernardi's cup was going cold, but the younger man had hustled off to call home and explain why he'd vanished two days ago in the middle of the night.

"You can't feel it?" The Sergeant was easily ten years his senior, possibly more, but between rank and age they found a middle ground to speak casually. But he mentioned a feeling, and as strange as the idea seemed to him, it was accurate.

"There's this… burning…" The older man immediately tilted his head back with a sigh, smiling a little and running a hand over the grey scruff marring his chin after two days on his feet.

"The General likes you." …What? "It means you've got his attention, so he trusts you do to something for him."

"So he's giving me heart-burn." Rossi was not impressed. This was not impressing him. He wasn't looking to be teased and made fun of, and if Bernardi got back before the Sergeant stopped smiling like that-

"If I was a religious man, Captain, I'd call them angels." Angels… "They're like us, but only half-way. Do you trust him?"

"Completely." It was the damnedest thing, but he really did. "It's like being in the air, only I trust his gut better than mine."

"You're a pilot?"

"I was." But his last flight had been harrowing, and even with the commendations he'd received there had been no explaining the damage done to his aircraft. With no explanation and too much chaos on the ground, he hadn't seen so much as a simulator in months. "Before all of this I was actually thinking of leaving the military, go work for an airline maybe."

"And now?" Sergeant Volpato was still smiling, but it was less teasing, more sympathetic. Taking a long swallow of his coffee, Rossi tried sifting through the strange thoughts tumbling in his head. Angels, that wasn't much of an answer so why did it feel right?

"If the General wants me to do something…" If he trusted him like that, even if he didn't know why… He took a breath and let it out in a puff, glancing through the winter sunlight as he thought he saw Bernardi jogging back over to them. "I guess I owe it to him to try."

"If Italy likes you, Captain, then I think you'll do more than just try."

I think that fixed the second-to-last scene. Why so vague, Sunny?