Loss for Words

.

It's not something I can explain. It's feeling: raw emotions welling up and filling and breaking and pouring out like a pot boiling over. One time, we had a fight, sort of— he was angry about something, so I tried to cheer him up, but he got this pained look on his face and got angrier. At that point I started to freak out (because the last thing I ever wanted to do was make him upset; it hurt me to see him like that and worse if I was the cause of it), and when I finally got too scared I cried and ran away. I went to my room and painted. With a brush in my hand, I lost myself in pouring my very soul onto the white canvas. What came out was a parade of bright and dark colors, swirling and entwining into brown and gray then bursting out into their own individual splendor in wild abandon. It was like that, but even describing the painting doesn't convey the meaning. I never hung it up, not once in almost a thousand years; I keep it covered in a corner in my studio. I take it out sometimes and just look at it for a while. It makes me sentimental.

I showed it to Germany, but I couldn't tell him what it was about. The words stayed in my throat. That happens sometimes but only with him.

"It's very nice." He seemed to be reluctant to choose his words and snapped his mouth shut as soon as he finished speaking. He squinted, scrutinized, and furrowed his brow in concentration. "What is it supposed to be?"

I chuckled. "It's not supposed to be anything. I painted it a long time ago when I was still.— in Austria's house. Back then it was a real mess, but nowadays it looks like something you'd see in a museum. Art is funny that way." Looking back at the painting, I noted that it could use some touching up. The colors weren't as vibrant as they should have been, and I suddenly felt very dumb for showing it to Germany like this.

"You were an artist ahead of your time." Germany gave me a look. I quickly took the canvas away.

"Thank you, Captain." I smiled, but Germany was so sharp he picked up on the half-heartedness in it. He frowned at me. Trying very hard not to drop my shoulders and recoil at his intense look, I pulled the sheet over the painting and set it back in its corner where it would stay until I had the time to work on it. "Ve. I think we should have pasta for lunch."

"Italy… Ja, pasta would be nice. Just try not to make a huge mess like last time."

I chuckled. "Si, Captain. No mess." Taking one last look at the corner, I followed Germany out of the studio. As I flipped the light switch, I felt a piece of me being put away for a long time.

History repeats itself, and after a couple centuries things can blur and look the same. They have the same eyes. Those harsh, Germanic eyes that are so hard and cold the warmth of feeling can't really shine through. Both of them— Germany, and him— at first, I thought they were terrible. But they both turned out to be really great people. Kind. Strong. Really scary looking. I feel it happening all over again. There are moments I think I smell the fragrance of a million flowers in an open field, or feel the warm sun against my cheeks as the form of a rabbit appears on a white canvas. Only instead it's the smell of wood finish drying on the cuckoo clocks, and the burning in my lungs trying to keep pace around the running track. And it's not him glaring at me from around the corner with deeply buried fondness in his eyes; it's Germany, scowling at me as I catch my breath and beg for a pasta break.

The feelings are welling up again in my heart. There's a war on the horizon, looming like an animal in a cage, waiting until just the right moment when the door is opened to break free and lash out. Tempers are short. The citizens are restless and have been discontented too long. The world is bending under the weight of the Depression. Germany is busier now, his boss rushing him from one job to the next. I spend a lot of time now wondering what I can do. I should do something. Not like back then, when I was younger, when I was scared when I should have been braver. If I'm given this chance to correct that mistake, then I will take it. I only wish it didn't take so many wars for me to realize this.

"I'm sorry." I whisper to the painting, now propped up on an easel.

"Italy?"

I jump and spin around. Germany is standing in the doorframe, looking very official in his military uniform. "Ahh! Captain! I didn't think you'd come today."

"We need to go over strategies." His eyes flick between me and the painting. Blushing, I cover it. "You showed me that one before."

"Si. It needs some touching up, but I can do it later. I'll go get changed." He didn't like it when I went to war meetings dressed casually, even if the meetings were in my own house.

"Why," He pauses, and the only sound I hear is the rapid beating of my heart in my chest. "Why is that painting important to you?"

"Huh?" I pull my smock over my head.

"You have dozens of other paintings and works of art, but this one..." He looks at me. "Forget I asked. Hurry up and put clothes on."

"Germany."

He stops, and I wonder what I thought I was going to say. It's special because someone I loved very much died a long time ago.I breathe in. I never told him what I needed to say. He looks over his shoulder back at me. It's okay. You don't have to prove anything. I open my mouth. I don't want to watch you leave and never come back.

"After the meeting, let's have gelato. I made lots this morning."

"Stop thinking about food when we have business to deal with!"

"Ve, but I'm hungry." Tears well up in my eyes at his outburst. His face is terrifying when he's this angry.

He storms off. I stay behind to return the painting to its corner. Thinking about it, I wonder if saying anything would have made a difference at all.

.

Well, back to GerIta, with a little HRE thrown into the mix. I swear, I've got a half dozen other fics for every other Axis and Ally character, but all I ever finish are these ones. I wanted to post this quickly, so I didn't edit it. I kind of wish I did, though, because the tenses are a bit of a bitch. It came out so sad, too. I think I'll write a Spamano one next, just to cheer up. Fusosososo~