The Ringing Phone
Disclaimer: Nothing you recognise belongs to me. Sadly.
The phone rang shrilly in the quiet room.
Germany paused in the middle of signing off the Luftwaffe budget reports. He stared warily at the ringing device, willing it to fall silent. When the phone continued shrilling at him the blond sighed and, with a mixture of annoyance, despair and faintly baffled resignation lifted the receiver.
"Ja?"
"Germany! Germany! America just phoned me! He says, veee! He says Britain's hiding in my basement! Germanyyyy!"
"America says Britain is hiding in your basement?"
"Si, si! Germany please, you've got to come and get rid of him!"
"You really think Britain is hiding in your basement rather than running affairs at his own house?"
"Geeeeerrrmaaaannnyyyyyy!"
And there it was the pleading desperate tone that only Italy could pull off. Germany ran his hand through his hair and suppressed a groan.
"Fine, I vill come and check."
He replaced the receiver, dropped the reports into a drawer and strode out of his office. "Gott in Himmel, am I really reduced to looking for monsters under that pasta fool's bed?"
Apparently he was, he mused as he pulled up next to Italy's Berlin house – a vain attempt to keep Italy from invading Germany's hose entirely. It hadn't worked however, the excitable nation spent barely any time there at all, preferring to eat, sleep and very occasionally work in the sprawling house Germany shared amicably with Prussia and grudgingly with Austria. Hopefully that arrangement would be over soon. Piano playing pansy boy.
The nation closed the car door and hurried towards the house; grimly tallying the number of laps he was going to assign Italy for this current hysterical interruption from actual important work. He entered the hose quietly, all the curtains were shut and there were no lights lit anywhere. Glancing into the kitchen Germany could see a mess of chaise, the kitchen table and a potted plant piled up in front of the door that led to the basement. Unsure of whether to be amused or irritated by this Germany settled for barking Italy's name up the stairs. The response was immediate and Germany found himself trying to untangle a trembling Italian's hands from the front of his uniform jacket.
"Veee! Germany! You came!"
"Of course I came, now get off!"
"Germany, Germany Britain's down there! Hiding with his shiny gun and shiny eyes and shiny hair and…"
"Shiny hair? Vot? Oh never mind. Italy would you let go!"
Successfully pulling the smaller man away from him at last Germany flicked open the curtains and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"If I go and check for Britain vill you promise to leave me alone afterwards?"
"No problem."
Ah, of course Italy had instantly reverted back to his happy, carefree attitude now Germany was here to take care of the problem. He even helped remove the mess of furniture blocking off the door. Well, he moved the potted plant at least.
But when Germany set to actually open the door, Italy panicked again and jumped directly on top of Germany, burying his face in the man's shoulder and sending them both sprawling on the floor.
"ITALY!"
"Veeee!"
"Get off!"
"Britain is coming! Britain is coming!"
"I said get off! Are you wanting me to send you to the trenches?" Threats were clearly effective as the nation released his strangle hold on Germany's neck and contented himself with hiding behind the blond and frantically waving a white flag. Germany spared a second to wonder where he'd pulled the thing from, dismissed it as unimportant and pulled open the door.
A flight of wooden steps led down to a pitch black room filled with a jumble of odds and ends. Germany frowned.
"Italy, do you have a torch?"
The brunette gestured at the top of a cabinet then returned to his occupation of trembling, flag waving and muttering about surrender. Ignoring all this Germany switched on the torch and started down. Italy latched on to the back of his jacket and Germany let him, easier than pulling him off again. It was a constant source of incredulity to Germany that Italy was actually much much older than the blond, with centuries of experience at running a country.
The basement was dark, gloomy and smelt of must. It was doubtful anyone had been down here for years other than rats, mice and spiders. A thick layer of dust coated everything, outlining the shape of broken furniture covered in cloths and sacks filled with discarded junk. Spider-webs hung in thick ropes from the grimy ceiling and weaved an intricate tapestry under the staircase. It was cool down there and quiet, apart from Italy's quick panicky breaths and the shuffle of their feet on the stone floor. Playing his torch across the stained walls and floor Germany was careful to examine each corner thoroughly. Just because he was 99% certain America had simply been teasing the naïve didn't mean he would do his work with anything less than his usual diligence. He gently turned back the heavy cloths covering the furniture, careful not to disturb the dust any more than absolutely necessary. No tousle headed Brit with vivid green eyes and a gun. What a surprise.
Once Italy had been convinced of the lack of enemy forces sneaking around his house he dragged Germany to the kitchen, handed him a glass of wine and busied himself with the delicate art of preparing pasta. He chattered on about whatever thought was passing through his mind, gesturing wildly enough to splatter sauce across the ceiling. Germany's occasional grunts of agreement or nods were enough to keep the shorter nation happily talking. Germany thought briefly of returning to his orderly office but Italy's cooking was not something to be missed. He completed the most vital work anyway; his boss could spare him for a couple of hours.
Delicious pasta consumed both nations relaxed with more wine. It was dark outside now but Italy's small kitchen was warm and cheerful, smelling of pasta and tomatoes and kept clean and neat. Living with Austria for most of his childhood had made Italy an excellent housekeeper. Germany was musing on the merits of putting Austria in charge of Prussia to see if that would encourage the albino to help around the house more, bloodshed in three minutes, death in five he thought, when Italy interrupted his thoughts sounding surprisingly serious.
"Vee, Germany?"
"Ja?"
"Errr…"
This was something serious then; Italy was very rarely lost for words. Germany sat up straighter and focussed on his companion.
"Vot Italy?"
"well, I just wanted top say thank you for coming round even though you didn't think Britain would be here, which he wasn't I guess and you're ever so busy with the war and training and everything and you still came round. So, er…thank you Germany."
Blinking in surprise, Germany struggled to order his thoughts, he couldn't remember the last time Italy had been this sincere and it threw him. What should he reply? That chasing after Italy was a job that both annoyed and, oddly enough, reassured him? He liked being the 'older brother' in their relationship, the one Italy ran to in the same way a young Germany had run to Prussia? That Italy was the only person apart from his Brüder who seemed to want to spend time with Germany and that Germany knew that Italy was his only real friend. Lacking the ability to articulate his feelings; Germany settled for clearing his throat and saying,
"Anytime Italy, anytime."
And looking at Italy's soft smile he knew the brunette had grasped at least the gist of his prior thoughts.
His office was cold and dark now. Germany entered quickly, intent on simply gathering up the reports to deliver to his boss' office before heading home. However, half a step into the room his instincts screamed at him and he dropped to a crouch, gun pulled out in one practised motion. He froze, scanning the room for any potential threat. Nothing. It was dark and still. Moving cautiously Germany rose to to his feet and immediately saw what had alerted him upon entry. The window was open. Ice gripped the nation's heart, a spy? Or an assassin? No, he would have known had any of the major leadership figures been murdered. More likely a spy, he kept several important military documents in his office. Most were locked away in the safe concealed in the wall. Germany checked and it was clear that no one had disturbed the safe but there were a few papers in his desk that should not be allowed to fall into enemy hands. Swiftly, he crossed the room and checked the desk. Surprisingly they seemed to have not disturbed the unlocked drawers, concentrating on the single locked drawer at the bottom. This was…not good. There had been nothing of military or political importance in there, Germany knew as he examined the smashed lock. And no money or valuables either. So, nothing to concern his country then. On the other hand, he kept his personal work in there, namely the smart notebook Prussia had given him last Christmas. His smart notebook where he faithfully chronicled his life, thoughts and hopes for the future. And he knew exactly who had taken in. Who else but the overenthusiastic America would have not checked the unlocked drawers or tried to force the safe? America had gone for the most interesting looking opportunity and then run for it apparently. Which meant Germany knew exactly where his journal was and who was reading it.
"Schieβe."