Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

I'm starting to feel like I'm in over my head on this fic. Perhaps because it was supposed to be a one-shot, and grew a lot quicker than I expected. Like a first-year violin student trying to play Paganini, I just don't have the skill to make it sing.

I'll push ahead though, and maybe gain some skill along the way. Nothing wrong with a little challenge now and then, right? Bear with me guys (even if I screech the strings a little). You wouldn't believe how helpful you've been so far, so my sincerest thanks, truly.

"Romano~, over here~!" Feliciano called as soon as his brother entered the conference room, standing in his seat and waving at his brother.

"Oi, get down, idiot! That's dangerous!" Romano yelled back, reaching him just as he jumped to the floor. Grabbing Feliciano's shoulder, he pulled him aside. "Look, bastard, we gotta be be careful, alright? Prussia's having one of his 'episodes'. Make sure you stay away from him and don't draw too much attention, dammit."

"Ve~." His brother frowned worriedly, nodding in understanding. "I'll go tell Germany." He sighed.

Romano blinked. Why hadn't he thought of that, dammit? Germany would be sure to keep his brother in line. It was practically his full-time job. He scowled, but nodded. "Yeah, okay. You do that. Just make sure you don't draw too much attention on the way, idiot."

"Okay~." His brother agreed, and set off through the crowd. Romano slumped into his seat, crossing his arms, tapping his finger impatiently as he waited for his brother's return. After a few minutes, Feliciano came back, dropping into the seat next to him. "Its alright~, I told him. Germany says he'll take care of it, and thanks for letting him know."

"Thanks nothing, dammit." Romano grumbled, relief filling him. "He should keep that animal under better control."

"Did he hurt you? Are you okay?" Feliciano asked worriedly, leaning against his brother's shoulder.

"I'm fine, idiot. We're not the ones he's after this time, anyway."

"Okay~! That's good." His brother answered, relieved, and looked around. "So, have you seen America yet?"

Romano frowned. "No, dammit. And I don't expect to, either, idiot."

His brother looked at him, confused. "But, he's at the meeting, today. He'll be here eventually, ve~."

"I, I know that! I meant, you know, personally. We probably won't... talk, or anything." He gestured vaguely. "Have anything to do with each other."

"Maybe." His brother answered dubiously. Then he smiled, catching sight of something on the other side of the room, and sat up straight. "Oh look! There he is, ve~!"

Romano looked over to see the blond nation breeze into the conference room, briefcase slung over his shoulder, humming happily. His eyes narrowed as he noticed a mark on the idiot's cheek- he could just make out the faint red outline of a handprint against America's fair skin. He frowned. How- who- had Prussia? wait, no, it was none of his business, he didn't care, dammit. It was just...who would do that to America? Sure he was an idiot, but he was kind of sweet and harmless, dammit. He didn't deserve that kind of treatment.

Not that he cared, 'cause he didn't, and he wasn't thinking about America's eyes, bright and blue and trusting, looking up at him with that sweet smile, relaxed and a little mischievious, or America, spread out beneath him, warm and flushed and wanting, moving up to meet him, the feel of that smooth skin under his hands, America's head thrown back in ecstasy, the muscles in the smooth column of his ivory throat working as he swallowed, gasped, panted Romano's name, America looking up at him, blue eyes shining, a soft smile curving his lips, mouth opening, slowly, to say-

"Everyone come to order!"

Germany's voice rang out over the chatter as he pounded the table, rudely jerking Romano out of his reverie. The Italian nation dropped his face in his hand, sinking down in his seat with a groan as Germany continued, "Pay attention! Our host, England, has been held up with urgent business, so he's requested that I lead today's meeting until he gets here. We'll start in 15 minutes, so everyone get prepared! You all know the drill! Have your data ready, keep it short and to the point. Don't digress!"

"Brother, brother, are you okay?" Feliciano leaned over to ask, as Germany lectured on in the background. "You look a little flushed, ve~." He pressed a hand to Romano's forehead.

"I'm fine, dammit. It's just really hot in here." Romano answered curtly, batting his brother's hand away. He shifted in his seat, uncomfortably, and tried to focus on the upcoming meeting. Feliciano leaned against Romano's arm, head on his shoulder.

"Well, America seems to be in a good mood." He commented idly, looking to where the blond nation was frolicking on the other side of the room. Romano looked, and sure enough, America was bouncing around with that silly grin, laughing and generally making a noisy nuisance of himself. He huffed, exasperated and amused (and irritated with himself for the warm feeling fluttering around in his stomach) and looked away.

"I don't care, idiot. It has nothing to do with me." He muttered.

"Hmm, if you say so~." His brother answered. "You might be right about him not caring, though. He hasn't looked at you at all since he got here, ve~."

Romano frowned. He hadn't? Not that it mattered, 'cause he didn't care. It was just sex, dammit, it didn't mean anything. "I don't care." He reiterated, irritated. "Whatever that idiot does has nothing to do with me, dammit."

He didn't care at all, dammit.

"I'm walkin' on sunshine~!" America sang as he strode into the conference room. He couldn't help but grin. He felt fantastic- outside of the little incident with England, his day was going great. He'd managed to finish all of his paperwork for the next few days already, the sun was shining, France had kept his secret so far (he could tell 'cause England hadn't assaulted him and no-one had come up to drill him about it), and really, he just felt... great.

Noticing England's seat was empty brought a mix of relief and trepidation- he wouldn't have to confront the volatile nation right away, but on the other hand, his not being here could mean that he was off somewhere planning some sort of unholy retaliation or getting drunk, and that could be trouble. He shrugged. He was feeling way too good to let that worry him now. He'd deal with it if it came up. Still, he thought, dropping his briefcase in his seat, it wouldn't hurt to do a little recon. He hadn't gotten this far by always just going with the flow.

"Mattie!" He exclaimed, flinging his arms around his brother's neck from behind. "Guess who!"

Canada sighed. "It's Canada, America."

"Beep! Wrong~!" America announced, spinning his brother around and dipping him low. "It's the hero, silly! A-mer-i-ca!"

"Waa~ what, what are you doing, America?" Canada flailed briefly, and clung to his brother's arms for support. "D-don't drop me! And I'm Canada!"

"Oh~ Canadaaa~" America sang, setting his brother back on his feet. "I don't know the words to the next line~."

"Nobody does." Canada sighed resignedly. He straightened his clothes with an odd look at his brother, wondering, "And what has gotten into you?" Then he blinked, mouth dropping open. "Oh. Oh!" He gasped, covering his mouth in surprise.

America laughed. "You really do take after France! But," he cleared his throat and lifted a finger to his lips, smiling secretively. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

He brother's eyes widened, and he smiled, nodding to show he understood. "Alright. But maybe I have something to talk about with you later? After the meeting?"

"Mmm, France will catch up with you before I do." He hummed noncommittally. "Speaking of France, have you seen him? I need to ask him something."

"Yeah, he's- wait, what happened to your face?" His brother asked, frowning, and reached up to touch the faint mark on his brother's cheek. "America, are you okay? That looks like it hurts."

"You shoulda seen the other guy." America answered wryly. His brother gave him a reproachful smile, torn between amusement and disapproval. America smiled. "Seriously though, I kind of deserved it, this time. I said some things to England that I maybe shouldn't have."

"Ahh." Canada nodded in understanding, and leaned over to pluck Kumajirou from his seat, squeezing the bear tightly in his arms. "Is that why he's not here now?"

"I'm not sure." America admitted, running a hand through his hair. "That's why I'm looking for France."

"He would know, yeah." Canada nodded, and looked around. "Well, I saw him over there with Spain earlier. You should be able to find him fairly easily, I think. Are you okay, though? I mean, a fight with England..."

"Nah, I'm cool." America smiled sunnily, bouncing on his toes. "For some reason I just feel really great today. Like no matter what happens it's all good."

Canada couldn't help but smile back. His brother's good mood was infectious. "That's good, eh. I'm sure it'll work out, then."

"Of course it will, I'm the hero!" America laughed, ruffling his brother's hair and spinning on his heel to go look for France. "Thanks Mattie, you're the best!" He called back over his shoulder as he left.

"It's Canada!"

"Who?" America heard Kumajirou ask just before he was out of earshot.

He barely noticed when Germany began his announcement, focused as he was on his mission. Aha, there was France, setting up his things for the upcoming meeting. Alone, though, which was convenient. America's smile ramped up a watt. Everything was just totally going his way today, yes indeedy.

"Hey, France." He tapped the other on the shoulder, leaning down when France looked up, so they could speak semi-privately. "Everything all right with England? He's not too upset, is he?" He tilted his head, and his smile turned tentative. "Should I be on my guard?" He asked, half-jokingly.

France smirked at him, and waved dismissively. "Non, non. You are safe for the time being. Rest easy. Of course," he amended, "he is none too happy with you right now. However, through great personal effort, I was able to provide him with a distraction from his displeasure." He winked, tossing his hair over his shoulder with a lascivious grin. "You should be most grateful, Amérique. Once again, I have come to your rescue."

America rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'm sure it was terrible for you. So you tired him out so much that he's missing the meeting? The one he's supposed to be hosting? I'm...kind of impressed. Mostly grossed out," He added, grinning and wrinkling his nose, "but impressed, too."

France sighed in false regret, leaning his head in his hand. "Alas, England is as energetic as ever. He simply had to step out for a while. You see, unfortunately his wardrobe was a casualty of our...distraction efforts, and he had to return home to, ah...clean up, as it were."

America blinked, and his smile turned genuine. "You know, it's kind of sweet the way you're all discreet when you talk about you two. Well," He amended, "discreet for you, anyway."

France stuck his nose in the air, sniffing haughtily. "I do no such thing, you little ingrate. Cease these slanderous accusations at once! This is the thanks I get for being so considerate on your behalf? And after I kept your secret for so long, too."

"Four and a half hours is 'so long'?" America asked, eyebrows climbing. He raised his hands in surrender at France's warning stare. "Okay, okay. You're as perverted and depraved as ever, I got it. Okay? An indiscreet sex-maniac."

France blinked at him. "It disturbs me that I can't tell if you're being serious or trying to insult me."

America laughed. "So England's not showing up at all, then?"

"I believe he intends to arrive after the break."

"Alright." America nodded. "I guess I'll play it by ear, then. Thanks France. For everything." He smiled, squeezing the other's shoulder affectionately.

"Mm, think nothing of it. Though I have yet to give up on getting the details of your little 'experience'."

"No way! Loose lips sink ships, France." America laughed, and waved as he made his escape, but not before France called back,

"I thought there was no ship to sink, mon petit?" Causing him to turn around and stick out his tongue.

He bounced through the crowd, greeting and chatting with a few other nations before heading to his place at the table. Just before he reached his seat, however, a loud voice called out, "Hey, America!" He turned to see Prussia sauntering up with an easy grin, sucking lazily on a lollipop.

"Heya, Prussia. You wanted me?" He greeted, smiling amiably. He was a little surprised to see the East German here, he usually didn't bother with the meetings since Germany took care of all their business for him. Must have tagged along with France or Spain.

"Oh yeah. Absolutely." Prussia smirked, slinging an arm around his shoulders and leaning close. "Got it in one, my fine friend. I want you like you wouldn't believe."

"Okay. What's up?"

"My awesome self has got a little proposition for ya." The other nation pulled another sucker out of his pocket, holding it out temptingly. "Want some candy?"

"Yay, thank you!" America beamed excitedly as he took it and popped it in his mouth. "Mm, cherry! That's really nice of you, Prussia! Man, this day just keeps getting better."

"I got a secret for ya, America." Prussia winked, leaning in to whisper into America's ear, "It's about to get awesome."

"Yeah?" America asked curiously, turning his head to see Prussia better.

"Oh yeah." Confirmed Prussia, licking his lips and moving in so they were practically nose-to-nose, his hand sliding down America's back. "In fa- ack!" He was cut off as a gloved hand grasped his collar, jerking him bodily away from the blond.

America blinked in surprise as Germany hauled his brother off of him. Prussia squirmed in his brother's grip, trying to break free. "Fuck, West, what the hell? I was bus-" Yet again he was cut off, his time by Germany's fist to his stomach, knocking him out. Germany slung his brother over his shoulder with a sigh, and turned to the startled nation watching them, eyebrows raised in question.

"I apologize for anything my brother may have said or done." Germany stated. "I'm afraid he's not in his right mind at the moment."

America blinked again, and shook his head, pulling the sucker from his mouth. "No worries, he didn't do anything. He was really nice, actually. He gave me candy!" Germany looked a little nonplussed.

"I'm...glad to hear that, then. If you'll excuse me, I'd better get him out of here before the meeting starts." He nodded shortly, shifting his brother's dead weight on his shoulder as he left.

"Okay. Hope he gets better soon!" America called after the retreating nation, and turned get ready for the meeting.

The muscles in Romano's jaw clenched, and he frowned deeply, arms crossed, fingers drumming on his sleeves. He'd watched the whole thing from where he sat, trying to ignore the rising trepidation, the guilt and worry and anger coiling in his stomach as Prussia moved in on the dangerously oblivious idiot. It was like watching a junkyard mongrel stalking a kitten. A tiny, fluffy kitten with big blue eyes, innocently chasing butterflies; unaware of the slavering, vicious dog coming to- he mentally slapped himself, and slipped a hand into his pocket to grip the bag of glass dust tightly. A kitten who could rip cars in half with its claws, dammit- America could handle himself.

Still, all the strength in the world didn't mean much if you were swallowed whole...

And speaking of swallowing, he couldn't believe that moron took candy from Prussia. Hadn't anyone ever taught the idiot not to take food from suspicious people? What the fuck had the brow-bastard been doing all those years he'd had America under his control? Well, okay, to be fair, if America had been eating England's food he'd be desperate enough to risk it. But still, hadn't France taught him anything? Of all people, France should know how dangerous that could be. Hadn't anybody looked after the idiot? From the looks of things they'd just let America wander around on his own, figuring things out through trial and error. It was a miracle the nation had survived 'til now.

Not that he cared, because he didn't, he assured himself, recrossing his arms and shifting in his seat. And even if he did (which he didn't, dammit), the idiot had survived, through several wars and everything (even England's food, miracle of miracles) so obviously he was doing just fine with or without anyone's help.

It was none of his business, dammit.

"Romano? Romano~. Romannnoooo~." A hand waved in front of his face, and he blinked. His brother was looking at him, brows furrowed in concern. "Romano, are you sure you're okay?" He asked, leaning his head against Romano's shoulder and looking up at him worriedly. "Maybe you caught something, ve~. England's a lot colder than what you're used to."

"I'm fine, bastard. It's nothing." Romano muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose, frustrated. "It's just..." He exhaled, rotating his shoulders, trying to work out the tension. "long night, dammit."

"I'll bet." His brother nodded sympathetically. "The meeting's about to start. Are you going to be able to make it through?"

"I said I'm fine, didn't I, bastard?"

"Alright, ve~." Feliciano smiled, and settled back down, returning his attention to the upcoming meeting.

As the room settled down and business finally went underway, Romano's attention drifted back to the blond superpower across the room. Feliciano had been right- America hadn't looked at him. Hadn't even glanced in his general direction, as far as he could tell. Which was fine, dammit. Great. The last thing he needed was some misguided idiot following him around. It was good that America understood where things stood (really though, not once? He'd just given the idiot what had to be the best night of his life. Not only was it his first time, but the sex had been great. And if he, Romano, thought it had been great, then it was fucking amazing, dammit. Yet there the bastard was, sitting there, completely unaffected, focusing on his work and not thinking about Romano at all. What the hell).

Across the table, the American idly played with the stick of candy in his mouth, and Romano's hands gripped his sleeves so tightly his knuckles went white against his skin. Just the thought of Prussia getting his filthy mitts on America made his stomach lurch. The nation was way too innocent for the things that Prussia would want. America wasn't ready for that. He didn't deserve that. And that asshole Prussia sure as hell didn't deserve America's innocence, his trust, or America yielding to him, letting him...

His leg bounced agitatedly. Couldn't America see what Prussia was after? That he wasn't safe? Apparently not- the idiot was obviously too naive to realize that Prussia was Bad News.

(And where did that asshole Prussia get off? Just because America wasn't in a relationship with England, America was free for the taking? Maybe America had better things to do than a washed out old ex-nation with delusions of awesomehood.)

And dammit- Romano shoulders hunched as it dawned on him- now that Prussia knew, it was only a matter of time before the news got around...and then America would be swarmed by opportunistic bastards. Dammit, if only he'd marked the bastard the night before (just about the only rule he hadn't broken last night). Maybe then Prussia (and everyone else) would realize America was...well, not taken, but...

Not that he cared, dammit, because he didn't. It didn't matter to him how sweet and innocent and...that he'd let Romano take his innocence, that he'd ...trusted him to take care of him, to lead him through his first...that he'd given Romano his virginity. His virginity! Sure, he hadn't known at the time, but America had; and even though he'd been scared and nervous at first, he'd trusted him! Really trusted him. Him, Romano! Had urged him to continue, even!

The Italian's heart pounded in his ears, his breath quickening as he remembered the way America had placed himself in his hands, yielding to him. How America responded to his words and actions without any real hesitation or question, calming at his touch, trusting Romano to take care of him, to keep him safe...

To be his first.

Not that any of it meant anything, dammit. Neither did the way he'd felt strangely relaxed and safe in America's arms, had slept more soundly than he had in he didn't know how long...he'd probably just been...exhausted, right? Who wouldn't be, after a night like that? He certainly didn't kind of...miss it. It had only been one night, dammit. Not even a full night, even. Hours, at most.

And yet America hadn't looked at him once.

Not that it mattered, dammit.

Time wore on, and Romano found himself in an endless cycle, going from disgruntled irritation (and denial) at America's nonchalance, to worry, anger and frustration (and denial) at the danger America was in from Prussia, to getting lost in thoughts of America, America, America...(and more denial, just to mix things up a little).

Less than an hour into the meeting and he couldn't take it anymore. He was getting a headache, dammit.

"I'm leaving, dammit." He told Feliciano, and stood, straightening his clothes in irritation. He had to get the hell out of here, away from anything that reminded him of that idiot across the room and anything to do with him. Or Prussia. Or kittens, dammit.

Feliciano nodded. "Okay~." he whispered back."Get some rest, Romano. I'll bring by the notes later, okay?"

"Whatever." Romano grunted in response, and left.

America shifted anxiously in his seat. He really, really had to go. Like nobody's business. Between the pot of coffee Romano Italy had left him this morning (which was awfully nice of him) and the two pots he'd consumed in the break room while he was doing his paperwork, his bladder was threatening to make it's own arrangements if he didn't take care of business soon. He really should have gone before the meeting, but it'd been a busy day, and he'd been distracted by candy. He'd totally forgotten.

Damn. He leaned over to nudge Canada's shoulder. "Mattie. Mattie."

"Ca-na-da."

"Whatever, look- I have to go to the bathroom. Take notes for me?"

"You should have taken care of that before the meeting." His brother scolded gently.

"I know, but I didn't, and if I don't go now I will explode, Mattie. Do you want me to explode?"

Canada's lips quirked. "You mean like you used to when we were kids?"

America scowled. "That wasn't my fault!" He hissed. "If England hadn't told me about the monsters under the bed I wouldn't have been too scared to get out of it to go to the bathroom!"

Canada frowned at the mention of England. "You're not just using this as an excuse to avoid England, are you?" He asked suspiciously, eyes narrowing. "You aren't going to skip out on the meeting like the time-"

"Mattiiieee, I have to peeeeee!" America whined, practically dancing in his seat, causing several neighboring nations to shoot them disapproving looks. Embarrassed at the attention, Canada sank into his seat, squeezing Kumajirou for support. His brother looked around, frantically whispering, "Matt- Canada! Canada, where'd you go?"

Canada sighed, forgetting his embarrassment in exasperation at his brother's inability to see him yet again. "I'm right here, Al." He said, placing a hand on his brother's arm. Startled, America turned to him, expression quickly morphing from surprise to pleading. Canada, as always, gave in. "Okay, I'll do it. Go on." He said, sighing inwardly. Why couldn't he ever say no to America?

"ThanksMattieyou'rethebest!" America breathed, flashing him a beaming, grateful smile, darting from his seat and out of the room. Canada shook his head.

"He's not coming back, is he?" He sighed, picking up his pen to resume his note-taking.

"Who?" asked Kumajirou.

Romano growled in frustration as he pushed himself off the floor of the closet. The same utility closet that he and Feliciano had been in earlier, as a matter of fact. He'd managed to get halfway out of the building before he'd realized that the key card to his hotel room was missing from his pocket. Since he'd had it this morning when he'd gone back to the hotel to shower and change, and he knew for sure he'd put it in his back pocket when he'd left, that meant there were two places it was most likely to have fallen out- in the closet where he'd sat while he talked to Feliciano, or back at his seat in the meeting room. He really, really hoped it was here in the closet so he didn't have to go back into the conference room and see that idiot America again, but he'd looked all over the floor and no luck, damn it all to hell. Well, he told himself as he opened the door and stepped out, if he kept his eyes on the floor he wouldn't have to see Amer-

That thought was cut off as his eyes met with a suddenly all-too-familiar set of blue ones across the hallway.

Someone up there hated him, he knew it.

AN: It must suck trying to be indifferent, uncaring and unsentimental when you're a hopeless romantic. He's like a gummy bear trying to deny he's made of delicious sugary goodness. Or maybe that's the fever talking again XD