Germany grumbled to himself, wrapping the brunette's foot carefully. It wasn't nearly as bad as either of them first thought but Italy would still need to try and stay off of it for a few days. The thought of not having to deal with Italy for a few days made Germany happy. Yet part of him knew it was too good to be true. "Stay in bed for the next few days, try not to walk too much if you don't have to. I'll excuse you from training ok?"
"Oh thank you Germany! You are-a to kind to me." Italy beamed with joy.
A few hours later while putting Japan through the course of training they heard a familiar screaming from the second floor. "What do you think that's arr about?"
"Probably Italy dying."
"We cloud onry be so rucky." Japan sighed. "You should go check on him."
"Can't I just let him suffer?" Germany cast a smile to his friend, but was only met with a scowl. "Alright, alright. I'm going."
Into the house the blonde went, muttering under his breath a list of ways he'd like to kill the pasta loving man. Once he made his way up the stairs the screams of agony became louder. All this did was anger Germany even more. "What is it now Italy?!"
"I'm hungry."
"So you scream the bloody murder?!"
Italy became quiet. "I tried to-a get up, but the ..."
"Ze owies, yes I know." Germany interrupted. "So vhy not just say "Hey Germany, make me a sandwich?"
"I didn't want-a to interrupt you."
"To late for zat." He rolled his eyes. "What would you like to eat? And please don't say pasta."
"Um..." the brunette frowned. "Then I don't know."
"I'll whip something up. Stay here...and this time don't get out of bed ok?"
"Mhmm. Yes sir!"
Trying his best to keep his temper under control Germany slaved away in the kitchen, making a meal for the three comrades. Once the masterpiece was completed he cleaned up and brought a plate to his indisposed friend. "Here. It's Spaetzle."
"Spaetzle?" Italy poked it with the spoon. "And what-a is a Spaetzle?"
"German noodles. Now eat!" Germany sat across of the brunette and watched him intensely. With all the work he put into making this food, he wanted to make sure it was eaten.
Taking a small bite, Italy cringed. There was very little taste and the noodles themselves were mushy. "Mmmmm...tastes great Germany.""You going to eat it or just poke it until it surrenders?"
"Can I really decide to just-a poke it?"
"No." Germany scowled. "Noodles are pasta...so you should like it."
"I know what-a pasta is, and this is not pasta." Italy took a spoonful and let it plop back into the bowl. "It's-a mush."
"It's German. Everything ve make is harsh and tasteless." He pushed the bowl towards his friend.
"Don't make me eat it Germany!"
"It'll put ze hair on your chest, make you a man."
"What if I don't want-a to be a man!" Italy pushed it back.
"Zen vhat would you be?!"
"Kitties are cute. Can I be that?"
"You can't be a kitty Italy!"
"Why not? They are-a soft and cuddly."
"Because I have ze allergies and Japan will try to make you into Yakitori." The blonde shook his head. "That is beside ze point! Italy you must eat the Spetazle, be a man and not a kitty cat and zat is the end of it!"
"You're so mean Germany." Italy looked away with a pout on his face. "I would have made a cute cat and you would have liked it."
"Well we vill never know." He stood and pushed the bowl over one last time. "This had better be empty vhen I return."

As the days passed Germany and Japan enjoyed their training in relative quiet. Occasionally Italy would start screaming about being thirsty, or hungry, or that his bandages were itchy. Germany would always come to his injured comrade's aide. Italy was starting to think that Germany must have had a softer side. It was still rather mean and unforgiving, like most of the things Germany did, but he could tell that his friend genuinely cared and wanted help him feel better. He enjoyed seeing his large friend this way and it saddened him to think that it would all come to an end once he was healed. If only he could find a way to make these days last for ever.

Japan started to notice that as the weeks passed Italy didn't seem to get any better. At first he didn't want to mention it to Germany for fear of being brutally maimed, but he started to get concerned and couldn't ignore the situation any longer. While helping to wash the dishes he decided to bring it up. "Germany, don't you think Itary shourd be heared by now?"

"Most people would be but Italy is...delicate."

"Dericate?" Japan paused and handed Germany a plate.

"He isn't like most people." He put the plate in the cabinet and motioned for another. "It takes him longer to get over zings."

"But doesn't this seem excessive? It's been almost four months!"

"Just give him time."

"Germany, are you rearry this brind? He's taking advantage of you."

"No one takes advantage of Germany." He turned around and glared at Japan. "You must be mistaken."

"It's just my opinion. Don't freak out." Japan shrugged and walked out of the room leaving the muscular blonde with his thoughts.

Was Italy really using him? No...he wouldn't do that. Italy was to nice and kind hearted...and weak! Germany paced the length of the kitchen mumbling to himself. There was no way that puny little pasta-loving Italy was taking advantage of him. He was Germany for crying out loud! No one could get the best of him, no one! He pounded his fist on the counter. But what if...what if he was? What if someone had been pulled one over on him? What if Italy was able to get him to do whatever he wanted?! Did that mean Italy was stronger then he was?! Both of his hands flew to cover his mouth. Did that mean he was...weaker then Italy! The thought made his skin crawl.

"Get a hold of yourself Germany. You are just over reacting." He ran a hand through his blonde hair. "None of this is making sense. And besides Japan was just saying vhat he thought, doesn't mean it's true."

Still lost in his sea of conflicting thoughts Germany wandered about the house. He went from room to room softly mumbling to himself. His temper raged and once he found himself in front of Italy's bedroom door he couldn't contain it anymore. "ITALYYYYY!" He screamed, kicking the door wide open.

"G-germany. Wh-what a pleasant surprise."

"We need to talk."

"A-about what?" He pulled the blanket up to his nose. Germany voice scared him more then usual.

"Let me see your foot."

"Um...you can't."

"And vhy not?"

"It...uh...went-a...sight seeing?"

"Your foot...went sight seeing." Germany crossed his arms.

"You know...Bradenburg Gate, The Reichstag, Memorial Church." Italy chuckled.

"And how did it get zere vithout your body?"

"Well...you see..." Germany yanked the blanket off, much to Italy's surprised. "Ahh!"

"You vere saying?"

"He came back-a early! Foot-sie how was your flight?"

"Just stop Italy. I know what's going on." He sat on the bed next to the frightened brunette, whom inched away.

"You...you do. Are you mad?"

"Do I look mad?" Germany scowled.

"That is-a trick question. You always look mad."

The blonde sighed. "Why did you lie to me?"

"About my foot going on vacation?"

"No. About being hurt." His temper was still raging, but he managed to keep his tone under control. Yelling at Italy wouldn't help the situation if anything it'd make things worse.

"But I was-a hurt." Italy paused and looked down at his hands. "I just got-a better sooner then I said."

"Vhy didn't you just tell me?"

"Because I like you being-a nice to me." A few tears welled in his brown eyes. "It was strange, having you wait on me; bringing me-a food and-a drinks and-a wrapping my foot. You made me feel...special. Like you liked me."

"That's it?" Germany replied after a short pause.

"Y-yes." Italy's gaze did not move from his hands.

"Dummkopf." A light blush appeared on Germany's face and he lifted the brunettes chin slightly before planting a soft kiss on his lips. "Of course I like you."