Dr. Crab's Prize, Saladin, She Floats, Sorrow, A Thousand Years.

I'm not-quite-back, but here's an update! I'm posting this from Japan where I will be for at least the next twelve months, and since I have a regular working schedule, that means I have a regular writing schedule!

I've been waiting for this chaaaaapterrrr yes I have. And I think because I was anticipating it so hard I stumbled more than anything? I also went a month without writing more than a few words anywhere due to packing, moving, training and working, but mostly I think it was the "omgomgomg FINALLY" jitters.

Gomen gomen.

Recovery

Sweet Plum Wine

Nations were good hosts, they had to be. Except in times of war even enemies had to be treated with dignity and respect, or at least given accommodations that reflected that kind of intention.

The People's Republic of China was quite pleased with the suite he'd been given in Rome. Gold fixtures, a crystal chandelier, more space than a single person rightfully needed for a few nights' stay in a foreign city… He'd already dined on five star Italian cuisine downstairs with his human party, and enjoyed the luxurious European soaps that were fun to dabble with every now and then when he was abroad. It wasn't home, but it was lavish and spoke very highly of his host.

Or should he say hosts: he'd need to have a talk with Italy about keeping secrets like that in the future. He wouldn't want anything to threaten their budding relationship, would he?

There would be two sides to tonight: what China expected, and what Yao wanted. He was comfortable with the duality now, more so than he had been months earlier in Switzerland. Maybe the State and the Man living in one solid body had always existed, but what was more important was the fact that neither side was in conflict. China would get what China wanted, and if Yao didn't then that would only be a disappointment- or merely a delay, and wouldn't interfere with the path forward.

Sending North Italy to speak to him had been a foul move on Italy's part, but China wasn't upset about it anymore. Instead, after a long day, a good meal, and a comforting bath, he reclined back on the fine leather couch provided for him across from the large television mounted on the marble wall and relaxed. The screen was off, and instead a tiny hot-plate was set up on the glass table in the middle of the sitting area. On top of the electric disk was a small white ceramic bottle, its contents slowly mulling away over the low heat while two small cups were resting, empty and waiting, on a square serving dish.

He was dressed down compared to the western suit and tie he'd worn to that upsetting meeting with North Italy: a black silk top with gold toggles down the front was loose on his skin but comfortable, simple grey cotton pants providing equal comfort. All he needed now was the host nation to arrive so they could take care of a few important details.

If Italy didn't come as instructed, those details would change from points of discussion into strict demands. China wasn't going to play games with someone he'd already won.

Just like he'd already won Canada. China's legal battles with the American administration had not gone unnoticed by the other North American states. Mexico and Canada had been meeting regularly in America's political absence to sort out issues on their continent, and with the northerner's "special" relationship with Russia, China had signed deal after deal with him to gain the kind of economic power he now held over the younger state.

And Canada knew he'd done more than just attend functions and galas: the pressure China was putting on America's manufacturing sectors was almost entirely the result of him simply forbidding Canada from renewing or increasing deals and contracts with his neighbour. Most of the restrictions were ones Canada had agreed to thanks to spurned pride and the opportunity for unprecedented growth in his own industries, but now other nations were paying attention: Germany had been furious at the last meeting…

Eight o'clock, where was Italy? China drummed his fingers over his knee once and considered standing up to find his cellphone, but as soon as he decided to do it a low chime bounced against the softly lit walls. A doorbell in a hotel wasn't exactly common, but it was certainly more enjoyable than an irritating phone call from the front desk.

So he did stand up, but instead of going to find his phone China simply slid around the side of the couch, curious to see if Italy would just walk in or wait for him to open the door. In the end it was the latter, which was almost disappointing until China remembered that he was still getting his way in the end.

"You're late." And that kind of satisfaction couldn't stay out of his voice, or his smile when he saw Italy standing there in a long black coat, his hands tucked into the wool pockets and a fashionable black hat resting on his dark hair. His shirt collar was visible, as was the tie he had looped around his throat, but China was more interested in the way he kept his shoulders straight, barely fussing with himself as he frowned a little with thin lips and gave a soft huff in the back of his throat.

"You didn't give me a set time, you just said tonight."

"Is that an excuse?" Italy took a small step forward, but when China didn't move he stopped short. He wrinkled his narrow forehead with a scowl that lined his cheeks and darkened his green eyes, but he answered the question without demanding entry.

"Did Veneziano make a mistake?" He could have jumped on that statement, but that would have been tactless- much better to discuss North Italy inside, not out here. "I was told tonight, not for dinner, now is this really what you want to talk about or should I turn around and leave so you can get on with your evening?"

"You're much better at handling deflections now." China gave the compliment and he watched the way the lines around Italy's mouth deepened and twisted in confusion. He felt his own smile growing a little wider and then took a small step back around behind the door, clearing the way for his host. "Please come inside, we have much to take care of."

It took Italy a moment before he accepted the invitation, a clear sign that he knew he was walking into an environment that could turn on him at any moment if he miscalculated. His hat and coat were handed over and put away with only subtle nods and China's unyielding smile, then it was back into the main body of the suite where the table and bottle were waiting. As soon as Italy saw the hot-plate and cups, he stopped again and this time the lines down his dark face were written with confusion, the creases around his eyes folding tightly as his attention shifted back and forth between China and the dishware.

"I thought you wanted an explanation for today, is that wine?" China simply moved ahead and took a seat on the white leather, gesturing with one hand for Italy to join him on the firm cushion.

"I do want an explanation," he answered simply, his hands delicately flipping both cups with a gentle chime before reaching for the heated bottle. The contents weren't hot because that would simply burn away the alcohol, but they were warm enough to enhance the flavour and aroma of the eastern spirit. "But first, a toast to our new friendship."

By European standards, the serving was small, but China knew as he lifted both cups with their golden contents, it was a generous amount for both. Italy accepted his with caution, lifting it up to catch the aroma and then gave him a curious look.

"It doesn't smell like rice wine." Because it wasn't, but China didn't answer yet, he waited for Italy to taste it first. That he swallowed too much by accident was clear by the way his green eyes widened briefly, a ribbon of tension tightening around his shoulders before he made himself relax and lowered the now half-empty cup with a disguised cough.

"Any guesses?" China purred, amused by the lengths Italy went to so he could hide the faux pas. He stretched out one leg across the floor before tucking his foot back in, licking his lips where the sweet must have clung to them.

"Some kind of fruit," his voice was raspy, but only for a moment as he swallowed again and then grunted heavily to clear his throat. He was looking down at the nectar swirling in his hand. "Peach?"

"Plum actually. Do you find it too sweet?"

"It's different." Which was polite Westerner for 'it's too sweet', but that didn't stop Italy from tasting it again with more caution this time. "But if you're willing to serve me wine then I guess you can't be too mad about this afternoon."

"Mm… I wouldn't go that far."

China let his words hang in the air, and Italy didn't shoot them down or try to tug on them to find whatever double meaning was hiding there. Was he mad? No, Italy was right to say he wasn't mad. But he'd still been upset.

Italy took another drink and this time it emptied the tiny cup, but China was there to refill it without comment.

"To be honest, I think we were both surprised you didn't already know." And then Italy's narrow lips took another sip, muffling his gentle words. He was too busy staring off at some corner of the room to look at China, probably gazing out the window of the apartment that looked out across the city lights. Such a guilty tell…

"Why is that?" There was no need for China to speak very much; Italy knew where he stood in this tedious balance. Watching him lose himself again in the alcohol he'd already decided was too sweet just resonated with memories of another nation and his taste for pungent wine.

"Last week he was forced to meet with Germany." And suddenly a thousand unanswered calls from the west made sense. "Frankly, I'd expected England and France to go along with him, hell I expected to be there myself, but in the end it was just the two of them."

Another drink, another pour.

"You make it sound like a bad thing, what happened?" North Italy was alive; that would have upset Germany terribly and it made the EU's rejection almost make more sense. Almost. Would Germany really hurt the one he'd loved just to spite the brother who'd hidden him? That didn't seem like him. It felt more like revenge that had backfired. "Aside from the EU refusing to aid you: that's been announced, in detail, absolutely everywhere. Even people inside my firewall know about it."

And they knew about the phrases and details Germany, on behalf of the EU, had written about the Italian Republic. The whole thing stank of a beurocratic leak: how had a twelve-hundred page financial document wound up in the hands of the media?

China had time to ponder the when and how of the leak because Italy wasn't speaking. He'd sipped from his wine again but now only sat there, elbows on his knees, looking down at nothing and mulling over his own thoughts. China was half-way to asking his question again when the other nation found his voice.

"The mansion…" unfortunately, it wasn't quite what China wanted to hear. He understood Italy's hesitation now. "It did things to my brother, China. Things he still hasn't recovered from, things he is going to need a very long time to let go of and move away from."

The sweetness of the wine clearly wasn't bothering him anymore, because with another swallow China was ready to refill the small cup again, taking a sip of his own wine as Italy paused for a breath. It was not a comfortable silence, but it wasn't hostile either, just tired. The fact that Italy began to willingly give him answers was either a result of the stress, the wine, or his simple inability to give a damn anymore.

"Germany doesn't trust me to take care of him." So long as Italy didn't lie or keep secrets from him, China didn't really care what the real reason was. "But Veneziano doesn't trust anyone who isn't me, and to be honest I'm in the same position."

Something in his voice changed. Something in his face changed. Something of Rome came through in Italy Romano's face as he looked up boldly this time, his eyes locking with China's and refusing to let go. It was like being a thousand years in the past, or maybe two thousand, he couldn't quite remember. He barely heard what Italy had to say because in that moment he sounded just like Rome.

"I don't fucking trust you." Except Rome had rarely sworn, but that was such a small detail. "But we both need your help, so help us. You know our government won't last more than another year and that I have a candidate to replace them, but I need you to put him in power or those criminals in my system will get there first. I need money so I can rebuild my brother, and they're common-sense things that need investing in: road ways, dams, bridges, factories, harbors. Everything the mansion and that earthquake destroyed I need help rebuilding."

"Say that first part again." China caught himself leaning forward, but Italy was too busy swallowing the wine in his little cup to notice. His cheeks were flushed already and China almost spilled the bottle when he reached for it without looking.

"Which part?" Rome's voice had been fuller, much louder: Italy's was much drier but no less melodic. Up and down with the refrains of his language, that song that sounded more like Latin than Spanish or Romanian or French would ever be.

"The very first one: about trust."

"I don't trust you…?" He said it softly because he was confused, but when China felt himself grinning again then he understood. Thick black brows came down in sweeping lines over eyes like stained glass, thin lips twisting as the aged lines around his mouth and eyes dug deeper and then relaxed. "I don't trust you."

"Very good." Why did that make him so happy? Why didn't those words hurt him and make him take a step back? Because they were wise words, words spoken by a nation that knew trust would lead to pain and humiliation. China wanted someone who understood how empires and power really worked.

They were whispering now and China barely heard the change happen, because frankly he didn't care. Whether he'd meant to or not, now he was sitting closer to his host who was his guest tonight, almost no space between them on the couch as Italy drank one more time from his cup and China filled it again from the much lighter vessel. It felt like handing over a reward for saying such pleasing things, and Italy didn't hesitate to drink again. Whatever was tumbling in his mind wasn't compelling him to stop.

"Now tell me something…" China whispered, and something tickled the back of his mind and asked where the line between Yao Wang and the People's Republic was supposed to be. "Something I want to know about you…"

"What, that Germany hates me?"

"Shh…" He'd barely had anything to drink so alcohol was no excuse for this giddy feeling. It was something else entirely that, when asked if he should touch Italy's lips with one finger or simply hush him with his voice, demanded contact with warm skin. And Italy didn't pull away either, he just watched with muted green eyes that wavered with a question his mind couldn't put together in the haze.

"Tell me something," China repeated, still whispering so the moment wouldn't shatter around them. His finger drifted to the side and brushed over smooth lips, hooking under the strong angle of a freshly shaved chin and holding that round face tilted slightly back. "Tell me… what you won't do."

Quiet greeted the question, quiet and a slow blink before lips tried to move and that melodic voice forgot how to speak.

"Won't do what?" It was the closest he could come to saying he didn't understand, and as painful as it was China withdrew his hand from that warm skin. He gestured instead of Italy to raise his cup again and take another drink, which he did without even a pause. The empty ceramic touched the cool glass and then China asked his question again, but phrased it differently.

"You need money."

"Yes."

"You need help."

"Yes."

"You need friends."

"I don't trust you…" He wanted to kiss those Roman lips for saying it again. He wasn't asking for trust but he couldn't act on such a sudden impulse either.

"Never trust me," China praised, "Just answer: what won't you do for my help?"

"I don't…"

"What would break this deal, Italy?" China pressed, not because he had to do it, but because he wanted to know. "What would make you walk away from all of this with me?"

The question confounded him in a different way this time, and China could tell the difference because instead of staring at him blankly, Italy blinked slowly and let the eye-contact between them twist and break away. He was quiet, but he was thinking.

"I… we need it." He mumbled the words without really moving his lips, which was a shame. When he shook his head though China reached out and touched his chin again with two fingertips: Italy kept speaking as his head was turned for him. "There's no way I could-"

"You always have the option of walking away."

"Bullshit."

"Lovino." He used the name that meant more than just a personal touch, and it cut through enough of the fog in confused green eyes that it was clear his blood was battling off the poison. China didn't mind that though, he was rewarded enough by the sight and touch of flushed skin, the breathless way that voice formed scattered words, the dazed light in beautiful eyes… Actually keeping him intoxicated wasn't necessary, and China felt his subtlety melting away as he crept so much closer across the couch, pleased with the feeling of a warm leg pressed against his and the faded scent of aftershave on tan skin.

"Yao…" It took him a long time to whisper the name back, and it made China catch his own lip between his teeth and hold it like that, all of his attention momentarily latched onto the narrow mouth in front of his. But he had more to say first, so he looked at those confused eyes again and said it:

"We both know what it's like to be held against our will." Histories aside, maybe Yao knew better than Lovino did: a hundred loops to one. "We both know what it's like to be acted against without consent." A hundred chances to bleed out and die, a hundred ways to regret foolishness and ignorance, a hundred times left as a shell of what had once been great and was now left dying. "So understand that whatever we write on paper, we are always free to walk away…"

Understanding: sunlight shimmering through spring leaves.

Empire: a clear voice that broke through wine, fatigue, and humility.

"If you ever target my brother the way you're targeting me now, China, I'll break both your fucking legs."

"And if I just keep targeting you like this?" Two fingers under a smooth chin became two fingers that moved down the dips and curves of a strong throat, running over the knot of a tie that gave up its strength with barely a tug or two in the right direction. "I want to help Veneziano, I really do, but you I'd much rather-"

"Just get on with it." A silk tie and pearl buttons, a few black hairs at the edge of a dark chest.

Lips sticky and sweet with the taste of plumb wine.

Heavy hands meant for farming and war.

A lean body sick from toil and neglect.

Skin blushed by wine and hot from the southern sun.

Not Rome.

"Yes…"

But close enough.

Seven o'clock, Romano left.

Eight o'clock: not home.

Nine o'clock: not home.

Ten, eleven, twelve o'clock: Veneziano was not going to bed until he came home.

One, two, three in the morning: why wouldn't Romano come home?

He could have walked away.

It was the first coherent thought to hit Romano after it was done: he could have said no.

He hadn't even asked what China would have done if he'd walked away, if he'd just said no, I don't want to do that.

Neither of them fell asleep, Romano just found himself sore and exhausted on the hotel's fine bed, his clothes a mess- some on, most off. He felt China roll off the side of the mattress to stand and that was when the thought hit him, because that was when the feeling hit him too.

He could have just said no.

Instead he listened to the sound of a pen warble across a piece of paper, the nub biting through to the desk. Romano didn't even have to look: he knew it was the contract from earlier that day, and he knew China had just signed it, as promised, and that they could move on now.

They could move on because it hadn't been about Romano at all: China'd called him "Rome" several times and the name just curdled his blood. The connection hadn't crossed his mind and all of the sudden it had been there, in his face, on top of him and taking what it wanted. It was done now but that just meant there was no taking it back.

"You're more than welcome to stay." He heard the smile and the satisfaction. From across the room he felt the heat of the lighter coming to life and igniting the end of a cigarette, but his lungs felt too clogged with something else to consider smoking one of his own.

"I'd rather just go home."

China didn't try to kiss or touch him again. He just felt him smile from across the room.

Romano watched the sun brighten the eastern sky over Rome, and demanded to know why he hadn't just said no.

Veneziano blinked and it was six in the morning.

The change didn't scare him, he was frustrated for having fallen asleep. Now his back and shoulders were sore. In fact, now everything was sore because their kitchen chairs were hard and he'd fallen asleep slouched over on one.

His phone was still on and he checked again to find no new messages or calls. He hadn't missed a signal or a plea, he hadn't missed anything at all by falling asleep for three hours.

But just to be extra-sure, he hurried upstairs and checked in Romano's room: it was empty.

He checked his own room, but there was only Gino sprawled across his pillow.

When he looked outside, he was just in time to see a taxi pull up on the edge of their street right by the front door. The car door popped open, the person he wanted to see slowly climbed out, and everything that had kept him up all night finally retracted its claws and fell away.

With a deep breath in that he slowly let out, Veneziano moved away from the window and calmly stood at the edge of the entry-way, watching the front door as the driver was paid for his services and he heard the vehicle pull away.

The door didn't open right away, but that was fine.

Thirty seconds later, it was still closed.

Two minutes went by and he hadn't unlocked the door.

Five minutes and Veneziano was scared again.

He unlocked the door himself, removing the chain Romano had installed and twisting the dead-bolt until it rattled back in place. The handle gave under his hand and the hinges flexed smoothly. Outside the morning air was cold and that was what washed over his ankles and bare feet, but he swallowed the fear that maybe Romano wouldn't be standing there when he looked up.

But he was, it was him: he was right there and all he needed to do was come inside and they'd be okay again. They'd be just fine. They were going to get through this together.

They were gonna be fine.

"Romano?"

They were gonna… be just fine…

"I…"

Romano was staring down across the threshold, his mouth cracked open and the words he'd tried to use crumbling away like chalk. It happened quickly and Veneziano didn't understand it, but his brother's lips began to tremble, and his eyes were turning red at the edges, and it made his heart start to break just standing there not doing anything to help. When he reached out with one hand, just something small to try and make Romano come inside, his brother's broken voice coughed and scraped its way out of his mouth.

"He signed." What had China done to him? "He signed everything, so we're gonna be just-"

"What's wrong?" His brother couldn't even get through the words, there were tears on his face and he covered his mouth with one hand to stop the sounds that tried getting out of him. "Romano come inside."

"Nothing's wrong!" But he was still weeping, both of his hands brushing back and forth under his eyes trying to stop the tears that kept coming. Veneziano couldn't remember seeing him like this, and the smile he was putting on kept slipping off. "The deal's signed so it's okay, nothing bad happened and I'm fine!"

"Romano-"

"Nothing bad happened!" He couldn't say it like that, those words just made the lie stand out worse. He knew they made it worse because Veneziano could remember how they'd felt in his own mouth.

"Come inside," He repeated instead, holding one hand out and moving so there was space for Romano to pass him. His brother was going to rub his eyes raw if he kept trying to scrape away the tears, but he wouldn't stop.

"I just-"

"It's safe inside… come." Come inside where it was safe and nothing could touch either of them.

"I need a bath…" Then Veneziano would run him a bath.

But first he helped Romano over the threshold and locked the door behind him. His hands were clumsy with the buttons on his jacket so Veneziano took care of that for him too, not asking where his tie had gone before gently pulling his brother into a hug. Romano let him do it, and that meant he wasn't scared.

"Nothing bad happened…" But he whispered those words again with his arms hooked around Veneziano, and the younger brother just closed his eyes and hung on to him, waiting for the shaking and shivering in the other body to pass. He didn't mention how much Romano smelled like alcohol and sweat, he just wanted him to know that he was back home where he belonged now.

Romano needed his help going up the stairs. He didn't look like it, but when they were half-way up and Romano nearly fell, Veneziano was the one who caught his arm and kept him from crashing back down to the hard floor. He started crying again and said it was just because he was tired.

When he saw the dark marks on his brother's skin in the bathroom, that was when Veneziano had to stop. The only sound was the hot water Romano wanted tumbling into the tub to fill it, but instead of trying to pretend he hadn't seen them, Veneziano stood up straight and looked right at his other half. Now he needed to know.

And Romano knew he did, because with red eyes and his mis-buttoned shirt half off his shoulders, South Italy made and broke eye contact with him several times. Veneziano gave him time to process and to think, but he needed to know.

The words Romano finally settled on were: "I could have said no."

"If he hurt you like that, then why didn't you?" The marks were not bruises like from fingers or fists. His skin wasn't burnt or cut. They were marks of attention, of focus, maybe even passion, but what was visible just on Romano's skin didn't make up everything that had happened. When his brother broke eye contact again, Veneziano waited.

"It didn't hurt." He seemed more ashamed by that than by what had happened: it just wasn't the kind of hurt that Veneziano meant… "But I could have said no."

"Do you want me to stay here?" If he wanted to be alone then Veneziano could go make them something to eat, or make sure Romano's bed was made and ready for him. Instead he just watched his brother look at the steaming tub and rub his arms slowly through his white shirt, and then without looking at him he nodded twice. Stay.

So he stayed, and he didn't ask any more questions as he helped wash and rinse his brother's dark hair, handing him a rag and enough soap to take care of himself in the hot water. He left to fetch fresh clothes and to call and say that Romano wouldn't be into the office until late today, if at all, and then came back and helped his brother dress in soft cotton clothes for sleeping.

"I mean it." Romano hugged him again before they left the bathroom, and he whispered his next words like a secret. "I mean it, Feliciano: nothing bad happened to me."

"But did it upset you?" And he hugged him back because it made them both feel better, his face down on his brother's shoulder where he could smell the soaps that washed away the smoke and sweat. He made his left hand hold on tight to the back of Romano's shirt, just to prove he could make it work the way it had to spread soap and spill water. He felt that other heart beating next to his and felt calmer, even though he wasn't the one who needed comfort.

"It did, but I'm okay."

"I know you are, but that still makes it a bad thing."

It was a long hug because that was what it needed to be, just something warm and close and comforting. It had to feel good because he knew Romano felt worse than he would admit, and it had to be calming because Veneziano could feel himself getting angry.

Very angry.

Angry at someone he couldn't target. Angry over something he hadn't been able to stop.

He helped his brother into bed and Romano tugged on his arm until he joined him under the blankets. They didn't wrap each other up in their arms, but their fingers wove together with palms close, wrists folded over one another warmly. Foreheads came together on the same pillow and sharing quiet breaths was comforting and quiet. When Gino pawed his way up onto the bed Romano didn't complain about the cat, he just looked at their connected hands and came up with soft words.

"It wasn't like what happened to you." Neither of them wanted to hear it, but maybe they both needed to. "It wasn't like that at all. I had a choice, so I'll live with it."

"Just because it was a choice doesn't mean it was a good one." Squeezing Romano's hands a little, they didn't need to be any closer: this was close enough. "Something worse happened to me, but something bad still happened to you."

"It doesn't count next to what you-"

"It counts, Lovino…" He whispered, because now they'd discussed it and now he didn't want to talk about it anymore. "It counts, it counts, everything counts, and that doesn't make it okay…"

Romano kissed him under his eye, and he returned it with one on his brother's cheek. The quiet settled over them like a blanket, but the anger was still there, and it made the warmth too much to sleep with. He knew Romano was still awake just by the way he was breathing, so he said the only thing he could think of to try and make the anger quiet down.

"…Do you want me to call Spain?" Because China wasn't someone who he could just walk up to and frighten away, or demand to see. Things were different with Spain though, everything was different, including Romano's heart.

"Why?" But his brother didn't even open his eyes, he just asked the question in a tired voice. "What good would that do? If he even came he'd just ask me what it was all for: why I'd hand myself over for a piece of paper…" And that meant Spain was out of the picture, which meant Veneziano could close his eyes again and rest his cheek against the warm fingers curled between his.

"Was it just for a piece of paper?" he asked softly, rhetorically.

"Of course not…"

"Then that would be a stupid question for him to ask," and the warmth of the bed was starting to get to him. "But I know why you did it, and I'm sorry."

"Don't be." And he could hear the comfort and warmth chipping away at his brother's strength too. "I could have said no, I was just stupid..."

"I'm sorry, Lovino."

"Shut up, stupid."

Romano was home, and they both fell asleep.

This was going to be a really well-layered chapter with scene breaks, but then I realized there was no way for it to be night in Italy when it was night in the Eastern USA. Stupid earth being a stupid shape.

Leave a Review! Next chapter: Alfred!