MW: I am a terrible writer. It's been nearly three months since I last updated. I am so sorry. To put it in a few words, I've been sick, directing a play, taking ACT prep classes, finishing said play, sick again, starting a new play, and passing the ACT. Unfortunately, AP testing is coming up soon and things are only going to get worse. I've already had to discontinue one of my stories and I would really hate to get behind in any more.

I'll rant later. For now, let's honor Prulicious, TotallyRandomAuthor, HimekoUchia, XxxImNotOkayxxX, FrostyTheBookLover, Hammsters, UltimateOtakuGirl100, Flyingmintbunny32, PurpleLuna98, AK, Kitkat12choco12, SmileRen, Dalasport, MastermindKakashi, Blood-Stained BallGowns, and Guest for reviewing and sharing their thoughts on the previous chapter. Your reviews really made my day!

Chapter Summary: The pieces start to fall in place and both Sherry and Larry start to develop leads in their cases.

Warnings: Strong language and sexual jokes.

Disclaimer: I still do not own Hetalia. Surprising, right?

~Chapter 3~

Turkey's Calves Were Maid For the Job
"The nature of the universe probably depends heavily on who is the actual protagonist. Lately I've been suspecting it's one of my cats."
― Wil McCarthy, American Novelist

The Fanboy: December 26th

That morning, I was not sure if I wanted to wake up or stay asleep forever. I could not remember my dreams, but I was sure that they were much better than the reality was I being forced to live in. Running away, however, was not going to fix anything. As I lay on Antonio's uncomfortable couch, a quilt spread over my frame, I knew the end would only come when I worked for it. Lounging on couches would get me nowhere.

My resolve set, I forced my eyes open and greeted the morning.

Antonio's home was more charming in the morning. Soft sunlight filtered through the cracks of the white blinds, making the dust in the air look like winter fire flies. The smell of coffee and sweets wafted to my nose. My stomach growled. I groaned and sat up. Every joint, every muscle, every bone in my body screamed in protest. I hissed, grasping my side, and leaned back into the coach. Even if the Hetalia characters had accelerated healing- all but the burn on my hand and the bruise of my face were gone -everything still hurt.

I noticed a note sitting on the coffee table. The writing was big and childish, the exact opposite from the fine cursive I knew Lars to write. It must have been Antonio's. I leaned forward to get a better look:

Good morning Larry!

Lars and I are in the cafe below! Come down when you want for breakfast!

The note ended with a small doodle of a smiling stick figure holding a flower. I could not help but to chuckle. I guessed he was no longer mad at me.

I pushed myself off the couch, a new wave of pain vibrating in my bones. I wore a grimace on my face as I dragged my feet across the carpet, checking each room. As the note predicted, Antonio and Lars were gone, each of their beds empty (let's not mention that Antonio's sheets were strewed all over the floor while Lars's bed was in military order).I managed to find a clean towel in the cabinet, one begging to be used. I peeled off my clothes and stepped into the shower for a quick wash, massaging the remaining sweat and ash from the night before.

Now that I thought about it, I could barely believe that I actually went inside a burning building. Me, Larry Sue, reckless? It seemed impossible. I swallowed and massaged my scalp. There was something more vital burning in the corner of my mind and wringing my gut: the other contracts. Antonio said that I was dragged here because someone else's contract summoned me. Mathias said that there were multiple people under that oath. Antonio did say that he knew who those people were, but he could not go against the "true creator's plan."

I had to spend today looking for these people who were, with no doubt, possessing a Hetalia character's body. Something significant must be at stake for them to decide to go along with whatever plan Himaruya orchestrated. My abdominal knots tightened. How the frack was I ever going to be able to find someone like that? Before I lose him like I lost Matthias? And what about Gilbert? He knew I was here. He was going to want answers that I could not give.

I turned off the water

I had to find a way to keep him pacified.

I wrapped a towel around myself, careful not to look down at Liechtenstein's boobs, and went back into the bedroom. That was when I realized my mistake.

Last night, when I packed my clothes, I did not grabbed Liechtenstein's jeans and shirts. I grabbed boxers and paint splattered jeans—Italy's clothes. I wanted to crack my head against the closet door frame. I had been so wrapped up in being Larry Sue that I had forgotten that I was even in a girl's body. None of Italy's jeans would cling to Liech's small hips and his shirts were bound to be dress length. Worse, I did not have any new bras, only tricolored boxers.

I cursed my stupidity.

I would look as ridiculous as an amateur cosplayer if I ever thought about stepping out in public in any of this. But at the same time, everything I wore last night was stained in soot and smelt of smoke. I would look like a hobo who had never seen a shower before in his life. I groaned again.

To cosplay or to hobo—that is the question!

Shaking my head, I decided that looking like an anime rip off would be better than being homeless. I pulled on one of Italy's maroon colored turtlenecks and rolled the sleeves until I had free reign of my hands. The jeans were a little harder to manage (even if they were skinny jeans), but a quick look through Antonio's room rewarded me with a belt. Tightened to the smallest notch, they still felt a little loose, but not too bad. I pulled on Liechtenstein's jacket and started to make my way out of the guest bedroom and to the front door.

Crack!

I looked down and lifted my foot, revealing my soot covered pants. I crouched down to it. Odd- I didn't remember putting anything breakable in there. I found my undamaged pair of glasses in the back pocket. Right. I picked up my old pair last night and, through all of the excitement, forgot they were even there. I was lucky I didn't damage the frame or break the lenses. I stuffed them into my jacket pocket and hurried out the door.

I quickly remembered that the frigid air that snow fostered made it impossible for me to easily slip my feet into anything, so it took me a few minutes to finally lace up my boots on the top step. Once set, I trotted down the staircase and into the white world.

The town was still frozen over with post-Christmas delight. Christmas lights dangled icicles over the street as people and cars briskly started their day. I smiled, taking a deep breath of the salty fresh air before sauntering into the cafe. A good crowd was already seated at the various circular tables, some holding menus while other sipped at their tea cups and chattered about nonsense. In the daylight, the cafe looked like an image taken straight from Barcelona. Stucco walls, rich wood floors, mosaic designs on the tables. Even the permanent coffee perfume in the air smelled like Spanish spices.

I scanned the cafe, quickly catching Spain behind the counter. He pressed a phone pressed to his ear, drumming his fingers in impatience. I leaned into the counter, my side against the glass display of cakes of cookies. "Hey Spain," I greeted, trying to sound upbeat and not bitter that there was a bruise marring the side of my face.

Antonio smiled at me before holding up a silencing finger. He listened to the phone for a moment before looking relieved. "Hello? Turkey this is your boss asking about- Iceland, why do you have Turkey's phone? Mhmm . . . well can you tell him that he is officially three hours late for his shift and I am already understaffed today as is. .. Yeah, I'll hold." He leaned into the display, mimicking me. He raised his wrist, counting down the ticks on his clock. I watched him mouth out a few numbers before something loud came from the phone. Antonio smirked and nodded. "Okay, I'll be waiting. See-"

He blinked. Antonio looked at the phone, scrunching his brows at the screen. "Rude," he muttered. "He didn't even say goodbye..."

He stayed sullen for a scant moment. I coughed into my fist. Antonio jerked back into reality and drew a large smile across his cheeks. He threw his phone behind his shoulder as he clasped my hand in his. "I just want to say that I am so sorry about last night," he said. "It was really out of place of me and I should have been more sensitive towards your feelings and oh my God did I give you that?"

He reached out a hand for my bruise. I swatted it away. "It's fine," I said. "We were all just a little tired last night and a little testy. I would have done the same."

"Are you sure?" He turned on the large puppy-dog eyes.

"Positive. Now can we get to the things that are actually important here?"

His mouth twitched, but his brilliant smile never left him. "Yeah, of course. Art Major Pangaea!" he called. "Can you take cash register for a bit?"

I gave him an odd look. "Art Major Pangaea?"

"Yeah." Antonio crossed to the other side of the counter. "Who else would work at a coffee shop?" He stepped outside, revealing himself in all his glory.

And by glory, I mean women's clothing.

I slapped my hand over my eyes, swearing every profanity any good Californian would know. "Holy shit- why are you in a maid outfit?" I demanded, shielding my face from the unholy sight. The short and disturbing glance I took gave me enough details to be comfortable with- silky black dress, laced with white gossamer strings, and completed with white stockings and black heels. Hell- he even had that stupid headband thing all the French maids wear.

Antonio picked at the end of his skirt (which was way too short for his junk), looking dejected. "This is a maid cafe," he said softly. (I should quickly clarify that I have only seen Antonio's junk once and that was when his curse was first broken and from what I saw, a skirt as short as this one would not be efficient enough to cover his stuff). (In case you didn't get it the first time, I did not have sex with Antonio). "Of course I'm dressed like this." (I should further clarify that I do not want to have sex with Antonio).

I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to massage away the headache sprouting against my skull. It refused to leave. "You look ridiculous."

"I could say the same to you." He gestured between my sagging jeans and unkempt shirt. "What the heck are you wearing?"

"I grabbed the wrong clothes yesterday and there is no freaking way I am going back to change them, so deal with it."

Antonio sighed and rolled his eyes. He reached into his bosom and pulled out a credit card. "When you have the time, go to Pangaea's Clothing Store and buy a few things."

I shook my head. "That doesn't matter right now," I said. "We need to figure out who these other contractees are."

"Correction: you and the Netherlands need to figure out who they are. I already know, but I can't tell you-"

"And why not? The 'true creator' told you not to?" I sounded angrier than I wanted, but the argument from the other night was still fresh on my mind. "Why can't you just tell me, Antonio? Why can't I just talk to this true creator guy and get me on the same page as you? Is there something here that I'm missing? Why can't you tell me?"

Antonio pressed his lips, fighting back an obvious scream. Whether it was for my sake or the customers I did not know, but he swallowed it back down his throat and spoke calm and tersely. "Believe it or not, what I'm doing is actually going to help us in the long run."

"And letting me guess what this big plan is is somehow better?"

"Larry-"

"Don't you trust me?"

Antonio grabbed my shoulder. The motion was quick and sharp, immediately silencing me. His eyes were narrowed with a stern glint. "Don't you dare even think that," he ordered. "Don't you dare even think that I don't trust you. You're being irrational."

I shook my head. "No, I'm not-" I ended in a hiss; his nails deep in my skin.

"Yes you are. So stop it."

I turned my face away. My bruise stung. I did not want to admit it, but I felt like he was right. My rationality told me that I had all the right to be frustrated by his secrecy, but I still felt like he was right. I was making a big deal out of nothing.

I sighed, shrugging his hands away easily. "Sorry," I muttered, stuffing my hands into my pockets. "I'll trust you."

I felt his smile on the back of my neck. He placed his hand on my shoulder, giving me a firm squeeze. "Go talk to Lars," he ordered kindly, forcing me upright and turning me around. He gave me a small nudge; the kind a mother bird gives her fledging to send them over the cliff. "You two can get some stuff done and tell me about it during dinner."

Huffing, I pushed him away, stumbling a bit on my oversized jeans. I groaned, quickly pulling the waist back up my hips. I looked like a junior high kid trying to look like a gangster in the clothes his mother bought him at Gap at the clearance rack. Maybe I could find some time to at least get a new pair of pants before the day was up.

I found Lars at the table farthest from Antonio, his arm propped under his chin, a smoking cigarette switching between his lips and his fingers. He barely noticed me take the spot in front of him. His eyes were trained on the notebook beneath his pen. Countless blue words were scrawled on the paper, a majority hastily scratched out or smudged or both. I lowered myself into the metal black chair across from him, waiting to see how long it would take for my presence to be noticed. Lars drew another line over his words, sighed, and extinguished his smoke in an already filled ashtray.

"I've gone through an entire pack waiting for you to get here," he stated, looking up at me. I saw the faintest glimpse of a smile before the quick return of a tight frown. "But now that you're here, Princess, I was wondering what you would like to do today."
I copied his mocking smile, resting my chin on my hands. "Well, my dear knight, we need to find the other contractees, figure out what to do about Gilbert, and get me new clothes."

Lars nodded and looked out the window. His eyes never moved from the packed gray slush on the sidewalk. A collection of laconic minutes passed before he spoke again. "I'm not sure what we should do about Gilbert," he said. "We know what's inside of him, but we don't know how much it'll change him. I'm not even sure about the other contractees either. I can't think of anyone on the top of my head who would be caught in the same situation as Mathias and I."

"Maybe they're just really good at hiding it," I offered. "I mean, I don't think anyone here would suspect that any of this was happening."

He blew a long breath of air through his lips, exhausted. "This is why we need Liech. She was always coming to me over the years with theories of one person or another being contractees."

I cocked an eyebrow. "Really?" I asked, inching forward from my chair. "Did she confirm any of them?"

He glowered. "Obviously not."

"Do you at least remember any of the names?

His eyes widened as he suddenly saw where I was going with this. "Of course." He grabbed his pencil and flipped to a new page in his notebook, mumbling mismatched thoughts beneath his breath. " They may not be right…let's see...what was his name again…"

It took him a few minutes to write them all out (or simply to admit that he remembered less than what he claimed). In the meantime, I meandered back to the counter and ordered a muffin and some coffee. As I chewed the top away, Lars finally ripped off the page and shoved it into my hands. I glanced over the names, trying to recall as much as I could about each one:

Turkey

Switzerland

Seychelles

Iceland

Germany

I remembered the first three well: Switzerland and Turkey were on the Romanov with me while Seychelles was our prisoner. Germany, on the other hand, was a simple blank. If he was there on the ship during THE WAR, then I never talked to him.

Lars leaned over the table, stabbing a finger next to the first two names. "I remember Liech telling me that it was suspicious how Turkey and Switzerland went from being practically married to not even acknowledging their past relationship."

My confusion worked itself on my face. "They're dating?"

"Yeah, or at least they did. They broke up suddenly a few years back and no one is sure why. Either way, they hate each other now. Anyways, these two-" he pointed at the next two on the list. "-are kind of the reverse. Iceland was into bestiality before suddenly dropping it in favor of being in a relationship with Seychelles. Liech was pretty sure that Seychelles has nothing to do with the whole contract deal, but she wasn't so sure about Iceland. But Seychelles does tie into Germany as well."

"I've never met him," I said. "Is he new?

"Not really, but he's pretty young. Wasn't born until the nineteenth century. Anyways, he's been a total straightie for as long as he's existed. People didn't like it too much, and he ended up attempting suicide. Seychelles stopped him and then dated him. Next thing we know, he's claiming to be gay and trying to get into France's pants."

"So he went from being straight to the point of being suicidal to suddenly gay?"

"That's what I said."

I leaned back in my chair, nodding. He was right- that was strange. Out of the five of them, Germany's story seemed like the best candidate. "Alright, let's start with him then," I said, grabbing all of my food. I stood, my chair scratching the floor. "Do you know where he is?"

Lars followed my lead, gathering his notebook and pack of cigarettes. "He works as a mechanic a few blocks away."

The front doors swung open and banged against the walls. The tables and windows rattled, drawing all eyes and attention to the group running inside. Three people- two teenagers holding the hand of one stocky man -skidded to a stop, their heels screeching against the wood floor. Lars and I exchanged a look, sharing the same thought: what was wrong with these guys?

The man (who looked vaguely familiar) took a moment to pant before leaping to the counter, at Antonio. "I am so sorry I am late," he said quickly, adjusting the pink scarf around his neck. "I didn't realize the time and yesterday was a crazy Christmas. I didn't bring my uniform, but I promise-"

Antonio smiled and patted the man's shoulder. "It's fine, Turkey. This happens to everyone every now and then. Just don't make a habit of it."

Oh. Turkey. I remembered him and his perverted ass.

He seemed to be doing okay. He looked better now in his worn green jacket and black snow boots than he did the last time I saw him. Then again, back then he was mourning over the death of Agatha and fighting against the Red Coats. Working in a cafe- even if it was a maid one -was ten times better.

Lars nudged my shoulder, indicating to the two other people. "Looks like three-fifths of the list are here," he whispered, his mouth barely moving. "Should we start with them first?"

The two other people, Seychelles and Iceland if my memory did not fail me, had their hands on their knees, panting like overheated machines. Iceland looked our way and frowned. I did not like his eyes; they looked like needles poised to penetrate my skin. I looked away. "No, let's check Germany first."

I shoved the last my muffin into my mouth. I kicked my chair in before marching off. Iceland whispered something to Seychelles as I passed, but I was out the door before I could make out their words. Standing in the cold, I considered going back inside and investigating the three candidates while I could, but Lars finally followed me outside. "Off to Germany's," he announced, shoving his remaining papers into his satchel. His elated smirk wiped all my reasonings from my mind, leaving me to give a fervent nodded and follow after him.

Lars was a tall, daunting figure when compared to the snow. The white crystals were clean and crisp, seemingly fragile. Lars wore a contrasting dark coat, the only color in his outfit coming from his blue striped scarf. His scowl did not make him appear any gentler. It took him a few blocks to realize that I was staring. "What? Is there something on my face?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Nah, just thinking-" I ended in a shrill shriek. There, coming out of "Russia's Flower Shop," was Italy. I dove behind Lars, making sure his broad shoulders hid my significantly smaller self.

"Hey, what are you-" He twirled around and tried to move away from me. I stepped with him. "Larry!"

I pressed a finger to my lips, hushing him. "Quiet! Do you want him to hear?" I hissed.

He glanced behind his shoulder. "What? Is Alfred or Roderich there?"

"No, Italy is."

I never saw a man more frustrated with a situation then Lars was at that moment. "Italy? Seriously? You're terrified of that wimp?" he asked. "What is he going to do? Cry on you?"

"No, you don't understand. If he sees me, then he's going to want an explanation on why I didn't want to have sex with him-"

"What?"

"-and the last time I messed up one of Liechtenstein's relationships, she beat the living shit out of me. I absolutely, one-hundred-percent, cannot let him see me."

He looked up at the sky, praying some silent prayer. "I fucking hate you," he muttered. He ran a quick hand through his gravity-less hair. "Alright, fine then. You said that you needed to buy new clothes, right? We'll just hide in Pangea's Clothing Store and take care of that until he goes away, alright?"

The moment I agreed, Lars turned me around and pushed me into the nearest building. Inside looked like the Macy's store at my local mall, minus all the bad fashion choices. I think. Truth be told, I was as educated with fashion as high school students were about real life. There seemed to be a large variety of different clothes, all in different shapes in colors. The mannequins, forever frozen in dainty poses, looked stylish enough.

Lars and I kicked the snow off our boots before exploring the inside. "So where do we even start?" I asked. I trailed my fingers along the lines of clothing racks. I did not know if it was the heat radiating off the white tiled floor or my sudden nerves that were making me feel suffocated.

Lars undid his scarf and pulled off his black gloves. "Depends. What do you need?"

I gulped. "Everything."

He motioned to one of the hanging signs directing us to the women's lingerie section. "Even the-"

"Especially that."

His face flushed a bright pink, the same shade as Pepto Bismol. He pressed his lips. In one swift move, he retied the scarf around his neck. "I'm going to wait outside."

I grabbed his arm, digging my heels into the tiles. By no means could I ever hope to actually hold him back, but my weight did slow down his progress to an inching crawl. "Hell no- you're staying here with me!" I ordered, my nails drilled into his skin.

He pushed onward, stooping his back to gain speed. "There's no way in hell I'm going to buy women's underwear with you!"

"But you're freaking gay! You should know all about this stuff!"

Lars turned to me. The instant I saw the fiery look in his eyes, he plucked me off the ground and held me high in the air like a child. "I'm gay," he barked. "The last thing I would know is how to handle women's underwear!"

A curt cough ended our ruckus. Our eyes crept to the side of our faces. We saw a familiar, scowling set of lips. A red apron tied around her waist, the buxom lady stood with her legs straddled and her fists on her hips. "What do you two think you're doing?" she asked, eyeing the bruise of my cheek.

I heard Lars balk. I slipped through his hands and landed in a half crouch on the ground. "Sorry Ukraine," he said, imposing a grin onto his lips. "I just, uh, needed to, uh..."

I sighed, pulling my pants higher up my waist as I stood. "What the idiot is trying to say is that we need help buying me new clothes," I said. I spotted the name tag pinned to her breast, identifying her as one of the store's clerks. "Do you know where we can get some help?"

She looked between me and the giant, her glare threatening to see through our lie. Even with the passing of a few centuries, Ukraine was still the mother I knew her to be. She could be an utterly terrifying one, but the comfort radiating off her skin was undeniable. "I can help you out," she said slowly. "But you two are going to have to not kill each other in the process."

Lars grinned, for real. "Then I shall stay out of your hair outside."

Before I had the chance to yank him back, the coward sprinted through the store and out the glass doors, a cold gust of wind signaling his departure. I stared at the place he once was, feeling the dread avalanche through my body. The last time I was left alone to deal with women's clothing, Gilbert strapped a corset onto me. If this adventure was going to be anything like that—

I yelped as a yellow measuring tape appeared around me, snugly holding onto my- Liechtenstein's -boobs. "What are you doing?" I demanded, reaching for the constraints.

Ukraine swatted my hand away, scolding, "Calm down. I'm just measuring your bust. Lift your arms up now." I grumbled, but did what she told me.

I soon discovered that bra shopping was as stressful as it sounded. Being a guy, the variety of different colors and patterns were countless. Ukraine would periodically hold a bra to me and ask if I liked this or that. Did I want a push-up or a normal one? Did these kinds of straps hurt my shoulders or not? Each question was unanswerable. The only response I could give was a shrug of the shoulder and a mummer of agreement. By the time I was trying to clasp the first of a pile of twenty behind my back, I could safely say that I missed the corsets.

Once the bra and underwear situation was sorted out, Ukraine dragged me to the clothing section, an area I was a little bit more competent with. A little, but not too much. Like before, each time she held up a shirt or skirt, I gave the same uninterested reply. I had a pile of five jeans, ten shirts, three bras, a pack of underwear, and two dresses in the end.

Ukraine let me change into a pair of skinny jeans (how do girls walk in these?) and a cute cream colored sweater that would, by no means, be able to keep me warm. I carried everything to the cash register, dropping the clothes on the counter. I dove into my bosom, digging for Antonio's credit card. Ukraine chuckled. "Honey, do we need to buy you a purse too?"

I scowled, slamming the plastic card onto the counter. "Do you want me to buy something or not?"

A head a silk black hair, cut messily, but close to the scalp, peaked out from around the pile. "We would, like, prefer if you bought everything," the man stated. "But I wouldn't, like, stop you from stealing it."

I grimaced, recognizing the speaker's dull brown eyes. "Hello Hong Kong," I said, trying and failing to hide my irritation. "I didn't know you worked here."

"Yeah you do. You, like, came in here to shop the other day."

Frack. I slapped a smile onto my face, clipping his words with my own. "Oh that's right. Ha-ha, I completely forgot." This was why I needed Liechtenstein. She needed to tell me these kinds of things or else I say something beyond repair. I noticed the two workers were staring at me. "What? Can't a guy- girl be forgetful every now and then?"

They heard my slip up. Despite my relaxed expression, they looked unsure. I could feel their droplets of suspicion dripping down their cheeks. I leaned into the counter, nudging the pile a little closer to Hong Kong. "So what's up with you two?" I asked. "How are you?"

Hong Kong was the first to recover. He snapped to his job, checking the tags under a red scanner. "Decent. Dating still sucks. But even single, my love life has been, like, much better than yours." A slight smirk appeared on his lips. "I heard that you, like, left Italy last night."

Frack. Wrong choice, wrong choice.

Ukraine nodded, once again eyeing my mauve cheek. "Are you sure you're alright?" she asked. "Straighties are known to be rather destructive, especially the male ones. If you need any help-"

I placed a hand over it. "I don't need help," I snapped. "Italy did nothing wrong. I just need to get away right now."

Ukraine stepped back, startled. The harsh grate of my voice made water swell to her eyes, threatening to spill over. Hong Kong stepped in, my pile of clothes whittling into a few remaining pieces. "Straighties may be destructive, but do you know who, like, is worse? The Netherlands."

I perked up, unbelieving my ears. Lars? I knew that he could be rough to the touch and a little hard to swallow, but he always had good intentions. Ukraine bounced her head in eager agreement, the short ends of her hair jumping with it. "That's right. I know that he's your friend, Liechtenstein, but take it from me: the man's nothing but trouble."

"Why?" I asked.

Hong Kong sighed, jabbing a few buttons on the cash register. "Not sure. It's just that . . . like, do you remember THE WAR?" I nodded. How could I ever forget? "Ever since THE WAR, the Netherlands has been, like, obsessed with something. I'm not sure what, but he's, like, always occupied by it. He gets violent if you even mention it to him." He shook his head. "He's just, like... like not the man I once dated. He's crazy and I've never seen anyone crueler before in my life."

I rubbed the back of my hand, feeling the blisters Lars gave me the night before.

Matthias- he was the one person, the one thing that could possibly drive Lars to such lengths. Lars seemed fine when I talked to him, but some part of me felt like Hong Kong was right. He was obsessive, borderline crazy, consumed by Matthias. He would end the world to save the Dane's soul. I wasn't so sure if I could do the same.

I did not realize how true Hong Kong's words truly were until I stepped back into the snow, armed with two bags of clothes. Lars was nowhere to be seen. I swore to myself, looking up and down the street. Lars said he was going to wait outside. He could not have been all that far.

A yelp drew my attention to the alley at the side of the building. From the high pitch, I figured that there was an injured puppy lying on a stack of newspapers, waiting for me to adopt him and break its magical curse. What I saw was far from that.

Lars held Iceland into the brick way, the muscles in his arm bulging as he squeezed his victims neck. "Speak, damnit!" he was growling, shaking from his unquestionable furry. "Why were you following us?"

Iceland, whose face was already painted with the the blood pouring from his nose, flashed his teeth. "I wasn't following you-"

Lars pulled him off the wall and banged him into it again. "Lying fuck! Tell me the truth or I swear to God, I'll-"

I dropped my bags, stomping my foot into the crunchy snow. "Netherlands!" They looked at me, one with sternness and the other with resentment. I was panting. My heart was loud in my ears, the pounding threatening to split my head into two. I did not care. I was only vaguely aware that Hong Kong and Ukraine's warnings were coming true right before my eyes. "Let go of him right now," I demanded.

Lars ground his teeth. "No. This bastard was following us-"

"I don't care. Put him down."

For a long moment, he did not move. His body was frozen in an instant of time, one that my heartbeats counted off.

There, behind my eyelids, I could see it. I could see Holy Rome with a knife in his gut, hunched over as blood squeezed its way through the cracks between his fingers. I pushed the image aside. Later I would deal with murdering Holy Rome. For now I had to prevent Iceland's. Lars glared at me for a collection of moments. Then, without a word, he released Iceland. Iceland scampered away, an injured puppy fleeing the scene.

I watched him back a corner down the block before turning back to my partner. "What the frack where you thinking?" I demanded, marching straight into his face. "You can't just go and beat people up whenever you want-"

Lars rolled his eyes. "He was following us."

"I don't care!"

"You should. If he was following us, then he has something to do with the contracts or Himaruya. There's something fishy about that kid and we need to go and figure that out now."

I pressed my lips, giving myself a moment to breathe. I wanted to scream at him more, but I knew I had to be the civil one. If he was going to be borderline crazy, then I would be borderline sane. "We're investigating Germany first," I said, low and even.

"I think that it's a dumb idea-"

"And you're one to talk. You're the irrational one. Look, I'm calling the shots here and I say that we take care of Germany first before we deal with Iceland. If you want to fight me on that, you're going to have to talk to Antonio." I did not want to pull that card, but it seemed to have worked well enough.

Lars crinkled his nose in distaste before finally looking away. "Fine, but I still say I'm right."

I stepped away, burying my hands into my winter coat. "Whatever. Now grab my bags- we're going back to the cafe."

"Why?"

I spoke with drenching sarcasm. "I don't know- probably to put away my clothes before they get wet. Now come on."

The Fangirl: December 26th

"Rise and shine, Sherry Sue! It's time to start another wonderful day!"

I groaned, rolling onto my stomach, pressing my pillow into my head. "It's too early to be happy, France," I mumbled, tasting my cotton pillow case. I heard the clink of silverware against plates and smelled the pungent stench of glorious coffee. Breakfast had started. I didn't care. The floor of Seychelles's apartment was not a Tempur Pedic and I tossed and turned all night. Whatever sleep I managed to get was shallow and lucid. "Go away."

France's hands clapped my shoulder. He shook me back and forth. "C'mon Sherry. I made us a quiche. If you don't get up soon, you'll have to eat some of my little bunny's terrible scones, and no one would want that, no?"

"Hey! I heard that, frog face!"

France laughed as he stood. "Oh England. If only there was someone who liked your scones."

"Don't you dare," England groaned. "I bloody hate that movie."

"Let it go-"

"What did I just say?"

I lifted my head off the pillow, blinking the sand out of my eyes. The apartment seemed to be alive once again. I saw France saunter to the breakfast table, shooting laughs and jeers at England. Already, the Brit's face was flushed red in a lovely mixture of frustration and embarrassment. He banged his hands onto the food laden table, barely disturbing the Icelander on the other end. Ari was the only one eating, cutting what looked to be a pie filled with scrambled eggs with his fork, his eyes trained on the newspaper.

I groaned. It was way too early for these Goddamn shenanigans. Adjusting myself into a better position, I ran a hand through my soft locks. "Chillax, England," I said with a yawn. "And stop being a stick in the mud."

England's cheeks turned a notch darker. "I am not a stick in the mud! You chaps just have no idea how to be polite."

"If I were you, I wouldn't be pushing myself just yet," Ari said, lowering his paper. He flicked it shut with the skill only a sophisticated man possessed. The bright sunlight that shone from the window made his hair the same color as the snow on the window sill. "We still have no idea why you fainted last night."

"It's what I said earlier: I was tired, my daughter is being possessed again, and everything is repeating itself. I was shocked." He realized what he said. "I mean, I was not that shocked. I was feeling a little dehydrated and I did feel a little sick. Not anymore, obviously, but . . ."

France sighed, shaking his head. "You are a sad little creature sometimes, my little bunny," he said. He ignored my giggles and his boyfriend's offended shouts as he moved to the coffee machine on the counter. "Sherry, shall I get you some coffee?"

"Yes please." I yawned. My limbs were stiff and it took a few good stretches to wake them. I stood, cracked my back, and straightened my satin dress. I did not change last night, mostly due to the sexual yaoi tensions in Seychelles's bedroom. The most I had done was pull the pig tails out of my hair. I ran my fingers through it now, undoing a few knots. At least I could do that with Seychelles's hair; my hair insisted on always being a giant blob of orange knots.

France was just handing me a mug filled with the godly liquid when the doorbell rang. "I got it," I said, taking a quick gulp of the bitter black as I walked to the hastily repaired door. (And by repaired, I mean superglued wood and a ton of duct tape).

Ari rose. "Are you sure it's not America?" he asked.

He was right. The men were quiet as I looked through the peep hole. Standing on the other side of the door was a blond person, but not the wired glasses that chased us the night before. No, it was someone much worse. I stepped away, the hair on my arms prickling. "Everybody, let's pretend to not be home and maybe she'll go away."

England raised a black brow. "She?"

A knock bombarded the door again, thunderous in my ears. "Open up, Seychelles!" A woman's voice called out. "I know you're there!" I looked at the men, giving them an I-Told-You-So look. They averted their eyes, pretending to be preoccupied with their hair, their newspaper, their food. The bang came again.

"Open up or else I'll knock the door down!"

I was not going to let her in. Letting her in would be my death. But France- the motherfucking country of motherfucking love -shoved me into the door. I banged my face against it, yelping as loud as humanly possible. There was no doubt that she knew I was there. I rubbed my nose, gave France the good old middle finger, put on my best face, and opened the door.

Belarus stood on the other side, wearing a darling scowl on her face. She looked the way I remembered her- pale to the point of looking sick, washed-out locks of limp blond hair, and sharp cheekbones that hollowed her face. The only not stern thing about her was the cute white bow crowning her head, one that matched her skirt. "Took you long enough," she spat, her arms folded over her blouse.

"Good morning to you too, bitch," I replied, sour. I was not over the one time she got all up in Liechtenstein's face about their past relationship. True, that was in a cycle that failed, but I still remembered it. "Can I help you?"

She pressed her mouth into a straight line, her nose wrinkled in disgust. Her hands formed fists. A sense of satisfaction filled my chest when she closed her eyes and forced her body to relax. That's right, run away, bitch. I got three badass men behind me who will go all Kun Fu Panda on your ass if you even think of touching me. "I was wondering," she said, through the skin of her teeth, "if you knew where Liechtenstein is. According to the facebook page, Italy has no idea where she is."

"You still use facebook?"

"Seychelles!"

I held up a hand in what was supposed to be a sign of defeat. She didn't accept it that way, probably because I smirked and took a sip of coffee. Belarus glared at me, looking torn between hating my life and hating her own. I gave her a good moment to calm down before I spoke. "I haven't seen her anywhere, loser."

"Thanks for nothing." She started towards me, raising her hand. I flinched, squeezing my eyes shut and hiding behind my mug. I waited for a long moment, but her punch never came.

I cracked an eye open, in time to see her wrap her hand around the door knob and close the door for me. The wood creaked as the glue started to undo itself. I blinked a few times.

What the fuck?

I took another slow slip of coffee, trying to wake myself up. Belarus did not kill me. That was new. I usually die after these kinds of things. Are there even any cycles going on right now...

"So no one knows where Liechtenstein is," Ari said, sitting back in his seat. Compared to the two frazzled blondes, he looked tranquil to the point of being unnatural. "Interesting."

"I'm just glad I didn't get shanked, " I said.

Ari scowled. "You were provoking her."

"Where's your sense of humor?"

"Dead. Like your parents."

I stared at him for a long moment, resisting the urge to smack my forehead. "My parents aren't dead-"

Near, far, wherever you are, I believe that the heart does go on~

We knitted our eyebrows together, looking at the glowing phone of the kitchen counter. "Is that Celine Dion?" England asked, rising to grab it. "Who has Celine Dion as a ringtone?"

"Pops would," Ari answered. He wiped his mouth with his napkin, holding out a hand. "Hand it over- I'll take it."

France and I exchanged a look. When did Ari become so bossy? Yeah, he was the only one of us who seemed to know what he was doing, but that gave him no right to order us around. As England handed Ari the phone, I sighed and shook my head. "I'm going to go change," I said, handing France my finished coffee cup. "Thanks."

He smiled, giving me a little wink. "Anything for you, dear."

I strained a smile. His charming and fatherly ways were comforting, but a part of me could not help but to be worried. A voice in my head whispered that I was still in his daughter's body, and that he was only being nice to me for that one reason. Without her face, he would hate me.

I pushed the negative thoughts away, half-hearing Ari speak as I went to Seychelles's bedroom. "...Hey, Spain, this is Iceland... Turkey's still asleep... shit, can you hold or a minute?" I was just placing my hand on the door knob when he called out, "Sherry, wake Pops up and tell him he's late to work."

I groaned. "Fine."

Work did not seem like a good idea. We were sort of in the middle of a crisis involving perverted Estonians. Working seemed like a risky waste of time. Nonetheless, I did what I was told.

Sadiq was in the same spot I saw him in last night: kneeling at Switzerland's side, his head resting on the bed. His hand, however, was not laced with his ex-boyfriend's. No, it was clutching the golden watch. A wave of memories crashed over me. I remembered all those times my fifteen year old self saw the hellish object in his hands, as if it was a scar on his skin. I remembered feeling its weight in my palms and in my pockets, feeling so sure that I had a place in the big scheme of things. If only now was then. At least, back then, I knew what piece I was in the puzzle.

I nudged Sadiq's shoulder. "Get up, sunshine. The sun is happy and I am pissed."

His snores sputtered like a car before he finally choked on his own breath and opened an eye. He moaned. "Shit . . . Sherry?" He sat up, swearing as he cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders. "Holy shit- what time is it?"

"Time for you to go to work."

He blinked a few times, uncomprehending. He slammed his head back into the mattress. "Tell them I'm not going," he muttered, his hand returning to Switzerland's.

I frowned. I rolled my eyes, walking to the closet. In the dark of the bedroom, it was hard to tell what exactly was on the dressers. "Tell Ari yourself" I said. "He's on the phone with your boss."

I felt his frustrated glare on my spine. I tried not to let it get to me, but I could not help but to feel a little unnerved. I plucked a pair of jeans off a hanger and started looking for a turtle neck. I heard Sadiq cup the side of his mouth and yell, "Kid, tell Spain I'm coming in today!"

I screamed.

The jeans dropped from my hands as I fell to my knees, my hands clutching my chest.

Something... something was piercing my chest. Something was ripping apart my ribcage and gutting my innards.

My heart wrenched and twisted at odd angles.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

What was going on?

A sharp ringing screeched against my ears.

Why

did

my

chest

hurt

so

much?

Stop.

The ringing died down.

The pain ended.

I opened my eyes, patting my hand on my chest. Where I felt like I was going to die, there was only numbness. I did not feel anything. I wiped a few tears from my cheeks, my throat sore. What in the world just happened?

"Are you okay?"

I blinked, realizing that I was not alone. France and England were swooped in close to my face, their eyes filled with worry. Ari stood at the doorway, the phone still at his ear, his eyes the widest I had ever seen them. I lowered my face, panting. "Yeah, I'm okay," I said. My voice sounded like a hollowed out, strained breath. "I just . . . what the fuck was that?"

The arm wrapped around my shoulders pulled me in closer. My arm pressed against a warm chest. "I could ask you the same thing." I turned my head, meeting Sadiq's gaze. I saw, for the first time, dark circles shadowing his eyes, eyes that were filled with worry. And fright. He looked terrified. "Are you sure you're alright?"

I looked down again, once again searching my chest. I only felt emptiness. Whatever invisible sword drove through me was long gone. "Yeah, I'm sure."

Sadiq looked away, taking a deep breath. "This is bad," he muttered. His breast rose and fell in another breath for air. "I think we should stay here today, or at least we know what the hell's going on."

"Um, about that . . ." We looked up at Ari, our eyes drawn into annoyed glares as he feigned normalcy. "See here, I might have told Spain on the phone that you were going to work today-"

My mentor was on his feet. "Why the fuck would you do that, kid? I don't have any time to waste!"

He raised his hands in defense, trying and failing to not look like he was about to shit his pants. "I don't know! Sherry started screaming and I panicked!"

England groaned and stepped between them. "Alright, you two. That's enough. Iceland, that was a twat move. Turkey, you need to stop being a bastard and control your temper. Yes, I also believe that no one should leave this apartment. However, I also believe that that is exactly what Himaruya would want us to do. We're not cattle and we certainly are not waiting for his minions to come after us. In order to maintain some sense of dignity and normalcy, I suggest we try to act like everything is okay for today. Tomorrow, we can hole ourselves in here all that we want, but until then let's try to act civilized."

France took a step forward, saying, "My little bunny-"

"Don't call me that."

"-is right. We have to put our best foot forward." He raised his arm to his face, pulling back his sleeve to check the watch on his wrist. "It's around ten right now. I say that we meet up again at lunch at Spain's Cafe to talk during his lunch break-"

"Wait, did you say that it's ten o'clock?" Sadiq asked.

"Yes."

He pulled at his hair. "Shit- I am three hours late! Why did none of you idiots tell me that sooner?" He dashed to the other side of the bedroom, placing a hand on the white dresser. "Wait, shit. My uniform's at home." He turned around, leaning into the piece of furniture. His brain finally seemed like it was slowing down, processing the little details of the situation. "If I have to go to work today, Sherry, you are not to leave my side. Got it?"

I nodded. Just like old times.

Ari whistled. "Hey, what do we do about Switzerland?"

The man was still sound asleep, our melodrama failing to stir a strand of hair on his scalp. "We'll leave a note," England said. We saw no reason to disagree.

The following minutes were spent in a flurry of motion. My abandoned pair of jeans were shoved back into my hands, along with a new shirt and underwear. I shared the bathroom with Sadiq, changing in the curtained shower stall as he swished mouth wash and tied on the pink scarf Poland gave him. France tied new red-ribbon pig tails into my hair while I slipped on a new pair of boots. Ari cleaned up the breakfast dishes. England wrote up a letter to Switzerland.

I had just pulled my arms through my blue winter coat when Sadiq finished zipping his classic green jacket. "If you're coming with me, we're leaving now!" He grabbed my hand and, without regard to my life, pulled me with him out the door, starting off at a sprint. We flew into the elevator, witnessing a flushed-faced Ari squeeze through the crack in the closing doors.

The ride down was filled with nothing but Ari's heavy pants.

The man at the salmon front desk was still at his post from the night before, but this time he was accompanied by a Pangaea. I wondered what this one was named: Apartment Manager Pangaea? Apartment Receptionist Pangaea? All of my names were lame. At least, I could not help but to think, she was a wonderfully familiar sight for sore eyes. At least, the small glimpse I got of her was.

Sadiq's pace was too fast for me to dawdle. I figured that the iced pavements outside would slow him down, but I was wrong. So incredibly wrong. I think the ice actually made him go faster. We zipped down the streets, weaving our way through the late morning crowd bundled in post-Christmas jackets. Our shoulders banged into that padding when we raced and crashed into them.

Sadiq held my hand, making sure I kept up with him. I held Ari's making sure the scrawny teen kept up with us. Faster than the speed of light, our chain made it to Spain's Cafe in record time. We burst through the front doors, our snow boots pounding on the wood floors as Sadiq led us inside. We dropped hands when we stopped and immediately placed them on our knees.

Holy shit. Even if Seychelles was an excellent runner, I was still out of breath. I did not care if Matt Smith was going to appear in his tardis and tell me to run, I swore I would never go that fast again.

I looked up as Sadiq spoke to Spain, taking in the cafe. It looked like stereotypical Spanish architecture. I liked it. "Hey." I flinched, feeling Ari's breath on the rim of my ear. His breath was still scattered, but he still managed to speak in a low voice only I could hear. "Look there."

I looked up, just in time to see Liechtenstein stroll by. She looked awkward in over-sized clothes, but that was not what made my stomach sink. A purple bruise colored her cheek, framed at the edges by disgusting yellow. Her green eyes did not meet mine. She walked as if she did not know me. "I wonder where she got that bruise," Ari whispered. I swallowed, silent.

A brute I recognized to be the Netherlands followed after her, juggling a stack of papers and a brown satchel. His gaze slicked over us, skeptical, but he did not pause to stare. Ari and I trailed him with our eyes, seeing the Dutchman speak to Liechtenstein before leaving down the street with her. "It looks like those two are working together," Ari added. He mused for a moment, humming. He pulled at the ends of his navy blue coat, preparing himself for another breech into the ice. "I'm going to go see what they're up to."

I grabbed his hand, stopping him in his stride. "I'll go with you."

He paused for a long moment, frozen mid-stride. He brushed his thumb over my knuckles, refusing to meet my eyes. He shook his head. "No. You're in no condition to be doing anything risky," he said. "Stay here with the Pops."

I pouted as he pulled his hand away. "C'mon, let me be helpful," I whined.

"I said no."

I jumped back. My eyes felt like they were bulging out their sockets. I never remembered Ari ever using such a ticked voice with me before. He stayed still for a long moment, as if regretting his actions. He didn't say anything, though. Ari just stayed like a statue for a long moment finally running after Liechtenstein.

I stared at the place he once was, feeling another pound of dread in my chest.

I relaxed my shoulders as I looked up at the wood beams in the ceiling. I knew he was right. I should be more concerned about having a freaking heart attack for no apparent reason than I was. But in a sense, I kind of was. I was afraid of what it meant, if it had any meaning at all. I was afraid that I was going to have to feel that intense pain again. But I did not want it to make me the damsel in distress.

When I was fifteen and stuck in Gakuen Hetalia, I had no shit what I was supposed to do. I was stabbed. I died there- multiple times. But I still did things. Sadiq and Ari allowed me to do things. How was I supposed to feel when they suddenly decide that I needed supervision? I ran my hands over my face. Even if I dared to express my feelings about this, I knew that they would ignore me. Or worse, they would tell me that I was over reacting. The latter seemed more likely.

I groaned, kicking the thoughts out of my head. Now I was being stupid. If I told them my concerns, they would have to listen to me. This was Team Sue. I was a part of it as much as they were. I forced myself to grin at the cafe's doors. They would be idiots to cast me out.

My inner monologue over, I turned back to Sadiq and Spain to discover that they were not there. Great, they ran away. If only Naruto villains learned to do that during dramatic flashbacks. As I chose a circular table and claimed it, I figured that dramatic flashbacks would not be so bad of an idea. It might kill some time while I sat around in my forced Bella Swan status.
Bella- she was a good topic.
Even though Bella Moon and I were on the other sides of the Atlantic Ocean, we were still able to maintain a close friendship. We texted each other, talked on the phone, saw each other during breaks. Even with our constant contact, there was a part of me that worried that she might replace me with some hot Benedict Cumberbatch look alike she might meet at Oxford. I couldn't be too upset with her, mostly since I would replace her with Sherlock Holmes in an instant. But every passing season left me with the dread of being forgotten. I did not want to wake up one day to find out that my best friend found someone else to giggle and whisper to.

Last week, before all this bullshit happened, Bella spared the time to visit me. Even though the heat of summer was intense, we shied away from the pool. I did not want to wear a bathing suit and reveal the freshman fifteen I had yet to burn off. Bella did not want to draw attention to the back tattoo her new British friends pressured her to get. I thought it looked nice: a black and white fox holding what Bella said was a nasturtium flower in its mouth.

I had told her so as I sprawled on my bed, stretching the kinks out of my limbs. "I know, but if Mom and Nutella find out, I'll be disowned," she said, falling into my desk chair. Her eyes flickered to the sketches I tacked on the wall. She pursed her lips. "Is that Hetalia?"

My face burned with shame. Bella grew up a long time ago. She had no more time for Hetalia and our old otaku days. I still held them frozen in my palms, ardently insisting that my hand will never thaw. How could it? The breath of Sadiq sealed it in place. "Don't judge me," I said, rolling onto my stomach and burying my face into my pillow. "But what about Stella? Your parents let her dye her hair."

I heard her gag. "Don't remind me." Again, I did not think that it was too bad. Stella's black locks were littered with every color of the neon rainbow. I almost wanted to copy her, but I could not think of a single color that went well with ginger orange. "She didn't even ask them. She just had your brother drive her to the salon and came home looking like that."

I lifted my face. "You're not blaming Larry for this," I said. I blew my frizz out of my face.

Bella raised her perfectly thin brows. "I'm not blaming him for anything. Sayaka can just be way too stubborn sometimes."

"Really? She seems like a pushover."

She rolled her eyes and brushed a chunk of hair from her face, revealing a shallow scar that stretched across the upper corner of her forehead. "Please. That girl has little wants, but when she wants something, she'd be determined to get it."

We had dropped the topic after that, talking instead of the past and ignoring our future. After Bella stayed the required three hours, she declared that she had another appointment and left. I had spent the rest of the day musing over her words. Bella was the perfect person, the Mary-Sue of my life. Everything about her was supposed to add up to the brilliant star I was supposed to look up to and envy. Knowing she had such human opinions of her step-sister made her seem less astronomical. She seemed more real. More tainted.

The clicking of a tea cup on the mosaic table snapped me back to the present. A familiar, callous hand placed a white cup of steaming coffee in front of me, followed by a blueberry muffin. My stomach growled. "Thanks Sadiq," I said, picking up my muffin. I looked up at him. "What-"

If I had been drinking water, I would have spat it out. If I had been waving a cigarette back and forth in the air, the smoldering tip would have burned off. If I had been a Loony Toon, my brain would explode via nuclear mushroom cloud.

Sadiq looked down at himself, puzzled. "What are you staring at?"

It took a few moments of useless blubbering to make myself coherent. "Why are you wearing a maid outfit?" I demanded, pointing to his frilly black skirt and oh my God, is he wearing fishnets? I knew his calves were finely shaped, but why did he have to show them off like that?

Sadiq looked taken back. "This is my uniform," he said, raising his hand to the white-lace head band on his head. The motion made his armpit hair stick out like nipples on a cold day. "Is there a problem with it?"

"Yeah. You look too good in it."

He chuckled. "I guess you're feeling better," he said, sheepish. "Do you know why-"

"Turkey!" Spain stuck the complete upper half of his body over the counter. He looked to be wearing a similar outfit. "Get back here! I need you in the bakery!"

Sadiq sighed. I expected him to look upset, or at least slightly annoyed. He did neither. He looked content, as if living the "coffee-shop AU" was everything he ever wanted in life. "I have to go back now," he said. "Spain's smart, but he's pathetic at baking."

"I've actually never tried any of your food before," I said.

The biggest, goofiest, most child-like grin appeared on his visage. "Really? Okay, one of these nights, I'll make dinner and you try my food. Trust me, I know how to make one mean-"

"Turkey!"

He looked back at his boss and told him he was coming. He said another goodbye to me, promising to talk to me during his lunch break. He scurried back to the counter, giving Spain a congenial smile as he ducked through the door and into the bakery. Spain looked at me and smiled. His eyes were bright enough to lift my mood, making me return his one with one of my own. I was about to raise my hand in a shy wave when the cafe doors swung open again.

France and England strolled inside, two briefcases in their hands, enveloped in an ongoing conversation. England was the first to break away, winking at me as he slid into the chair on the other side of the table. "Good morning, Seychelles. How are you this fine day?"

I shrugged as France found another chair and placed it on my other side. "Hungry. Did you get what you needed?"

"Of course we did. We dropped off our clothes in Seychelles's- your apartment before coming over here."

I made a face, raising my cup to my lips. "I don't get why you have to bring your clothes with you. Can't you just sleep in your own house?"

"We would love to, trust me, but we live most inconveniently on the outskirts of town," France said. "It's much too far for us to be able to reach you in the case of an emergency. Staying in town would be much better."

"Though our house would have so much more space," England mourned.

France placed a hand over his forehead. "Such is the troubles of living in a mansion."

I nearly choked on my food. "Wait a second- you guys live in a mansion?"

I learned that France and England were the town mayors, a different spin of their previous positions as the president and vice president of Gakuen Hetalia. Powerful and rich, their only option was to buy an immense home on the beach a few miles off. You know, because buying food for starving children in Africa was not an option.

As if to prove themselves, they proceeded to start on their town duties. They pulled their laptops from the briefcases and started to work, speaking in hushed voices about topics way over my head.

I watched the hour hand creep its way towards the twelves, finding mindless ways to stay entertained. France gave me a notepad and a pen, and, for a while, I sketched a burning building. Like last time, my drawing was horrendous and cringe worthy. With scribbles like these, there was no way anyone would believe that I was going to get an internship at Disney.

I groaned and folded my arms over my chest. This sucked balls. Major balls.

France and England continued their conversation, going back and forth on some issue. I tuned in, right in time to hear England say, "Bloody hell, let's get a third head in this. Seychelles?" He pulled his head away and saw me. "Oh, you were listening."

I shrugged.

"Anyways, that stupid idiot and I are in a bit of a quagmire. We need a sort of host for the upcoming festival and we can't decide-"

"Festival?" I leaned forward in my seat, interested. "What festival?" I asked.

Apparently the town throws a New Year's Eve festival every year based upon an important theme the citizens voted on. This year's theme was love. (Of course. Because having a festival on shea butter was considered "socially unacceptable") . Despite being only days away from the event, the mayor and his vice were still stuck on who they should get to stand on the main stage and talk about the day's event into a microphone.

"At first, we though Prussia could do it, but his voice is so grating that there would definitely be complaints," England said. "All in all, we're at a total loss."

"Why not Poland?" I asked, twirling the ends of my pigtails.

France pressed his lips. "Close, but he's very shy."

"I think that I might be able to get him to do it-"

The cafe doors opened and a new group of people came in. Most were on NPCs meant to fill up space, but one head of silver head fought its way through their shoulders and ran to our table. Ari looked like shit. His face was caked in a layer of blood and dirt as he moved with stiff, weak limbs. He held his arm to his nose, trying to stop the stream of blood.

I rose from my chair, mouth hanging. "What the fuck happened to you?" I demanded, forcing him to take my seat instead. England ran to grab a trashcan while France grabbed a handful of napkins and shoved them beneath Ari's small nose.

"The Netherlands figured out that I was following him," Ari said. He lifted his chin, allowing England to shove the waste basket onto his lap. He pinched napkins onto his nostrils, watching the stray droplets of blood splat into the trash. "He tried to interrogate me, but Liechtenstein stopped him."

France and England exchanged a look, pale. I felt my stomach twist. I wanted to take the waste basket from him and barf my muffin into it. "What did he ask you?" France asked. He spoke in a slow, deliberate manner, as if his very breath would shatter the Icelandic teen's skin.

But Ari was stronger than everyone thought. "Mostly just why I was following him," he recited. "He was very panicked, though."

England ran his hands over his face, looking up to the heavens for prayer. "This was a bad idea- why is Turkey always away when we need him?"

Ari flicked his soaked, makeshift swab into the trash and accepted a new one. "You do realize how beneficial this, right?"

"How was any of this a good thing?" I demanded.

"I proved that not only is Liechtenstein hiding something, but she's in league with the Netherlands somehow. All we have left to do is figure out what exactly and devise a plan to deal with it."

At that moment, with France and England at a loss for what to do and Ari bleeding enough to start a Red Cross, I felt nothing but hopelessness. Complicated webs were being spun right before my eyes and, if I did not tread on the silver correctly, I would ensnarl myself in the trap. Like the men, I wanted Sadiq to step in and add his five cents. Even if his strategies were hasty and brash, they would at least give us a hold. He would balance our heads long enough for us to come up with a better one. I wanted Sadiq to simplify things again, like when I was younger.

A crash echoed across the cafe.

"Oh my God- are you alright?"

The blood in my veins ran cold. My hands were clammy. That . . . did I hear that right?

Ari was the first to notice my shock. He nudged me with his foot, asking what was wrong.

No, there was no way I heard that right. I was making it all up in my head.

France and England wondered aloud if I was going to be in pain again.

Curiosity finally placed his hands on the sides of my head and forced me to turn around.

Sadiq stood by a circular table, shaking. His tray lay on the floor, a porcelain white cup shatter into pieces, mingling with the spilled coffee. Tremors shook sweat down his face, making his wide eyes more deranged than they really were. His lips moved up and down in a mantra made of one word on a broken record.

I had never been good at reading lips, but when I saw who he was staring at, I understood.

I understood because he was staring at me. Same orange hair, same unattractive figure, same crappy sense of fashion. This girl was crouched on the ground, rambling about nonsense as she plucked the shattered glass off the ground.

Sadiq spilled a single name into the air over and over again:

Agatha.

MW: You guys knew she was going to come back eventually. I bet I just got you guys on how soon she was going to show her face. Anyways, this chapter actually had some pretty significant plot points in it. As the writer I think they were kind of obvious, but I know that a lot of them wouldn't reveal their roles until later chapters. Now it's time for some other news.

First off, Larry is not as worthless as I originally thought. Surprising, right? Larry is nominated for Best Original Male Character in Christoph Andretti's The 2014 Hetalia Award. You can find the story in my favorites, so if you think the prick is worthy enough, go ahead and vote for Larry. Voting is actually ending pretty soon.

And second, there is some interest in the contest I mentioned last chapter. Enough interest for me to go ahead and declare it officially started. I'll post some of the actual contest guidelines on tumblr (and put a link to it in my profile, naturally), but I'll give you some of the basics: the contest goal is to make me smile. Whoever can elicit the most happiness will receive first place and a one-shot of their choice. Second and third will receive fanfiction that have word count restraints. All and every kind of media is accepted. All submitted pieces will be featured in my profile and mentioned in my A/Ns. The deadline will be sometime in June, so everyone should have some time to complete whatever they want to do. Check out the link in my profile and ask me if you have any questions.

And lastly, I changed my tumblr URL. I used to be midnaswolftheawesome, but I am now clockworkspades. Do not go to my old URL—someone claimed it before I could make a redirect page and now the blog as a rather inappropriate title.

So this has been a rather long A/N. I hope you all have enjoyed this chapter and please remember to share your thoughts on the story so far.

No Notes

Next Chapter: Agatha is here and that can only mean one thing: trouble. And by trouble, I mean two incredibly upset Sues.

Thank you for reading! I hope you all have a nice day!