WARNING: This fic is older than ass and is therefore terrible. Because this fanfiction is several years old, I am NOT looking for constructive criticism on this particular story. Basic feedback is appreciated, but reviews with cc will be ignored. If you would like to critique one of my stories, please consult my Pokemon fanfiction, as it is much newer. Thank you very much, and your favorites and reviews tickle my pickle.



"Doitsu, Doitsu! Save me, save me!"

Germany blew out a taxed, bated breath as he sat behind his desk in Berlin. Ah, he got these calls at least once a week- Italy, fortified with sudden audacity, would go rushing off on his own and try to conquer some arbitrary country, only to be defeated shamefully. (Not that Italy felt any shame when it came to that- Or really any shame at all, Germany soliloquized) And, of course, the instant he was captured, he would (Somehow; Germany hadn't an inkling as to how Italy got a hold of a telephone) patch a call to Germany and beseech to be rescued. "Oh, Italia, it's just you," Germany said, scant relief trailing his sonorous voice. "What happened this time?"

"Ve~ Doitsu, it was terrible!" Even from a thousand miles away, the innocent resonance of Italy's boyish, prepubescent voice (Despite the fact that Italy was actually much older than Germany) made Germany's heart flutter lightly. "I went to trounce Tunisia this afternoon, and… and France was there! He looked like a drag queen! I got sooooo scared, so then I ran in the other direction, only to be apprehended by America! Ne, Doitsu! Please come help! They don't have any pasta here!"

Germany sighed, mirroring his previous gesture. "Italia, how do you get yourself in these situations?"

Suddenly, Italy sounded very sober. "Ve… Beats me, Doitsu."

"Fine, I'm on my way down," announced Germany, already standing up from his annoyingly creaky office chair. "Sit tight, Italia. Don't eat anything they give you. It may be spiked with cholera."

"Ve~ Don't worry, Doitsu! Everything in Tunisia tastes like shit, anyway. America may feed me hamburgers!" There were some distinct rustlings and barked diatribes in the background. "Ne? Nooo, that's steak! Guard, what does an Italian have to do to get good pasta around here?" Click. A dial tone ensued.

Grumbling under his breath, Germany slammed the phone receiver down and collected his angrily smattered semblance. "Dammit, Italia!" He snarled. "I'm not your babysitter!" Truthfully, that's all the much more military-driven country felt he was to the innocuous Italian nation. Fuck, everything the Mediterranean nation did was irritating to Germany! Make pasta and pizza so much that Germany felt he would be sick, create a battlefield out of his kitchen (A mess which, obviously, Germany was entitled to tidy), waving that ludicrous white flag about, sleep in the same bed as him and Japan-

Abruptly, Germany caught himself. Sleep in the same bed as…? The notion had not bothered Germany as much in the past as it had now. In fact, the action had been so mandatory that he and Japan thought nothing of it. But the epiphany Germany had suddenly been endowed with was drastically changing his mind. Not for the negative… No, instead Germany was finding himself wallowing in memories of Italy as he slept peacefully next to him, making soft, cooing noises in his sleep that were almost nostalgic. How occasionally, Germany found himself waking to having accidentally entangled his limbs with Italy's in his energetic state of unconsciousness. But Germany had just blown it off and wiggled out of Italy's limp grasp before turning over and drifting off again. How was it that he had not felt anything then? Was it because he had been so interlocked in the haze of tiredness that it had only scratched the surface of his individual space? And especially, why was this only putting him in such discomfiture now?

Germany let his face fall into his hands as he paced back and forth in his office. Images of Italy were slowly overcoming his mind- that endearing curl of auburn hair that always stuck out right above the topmost rung of his neck, how his mystifyingly golden eyes were always blissfully closed as Italy dazed out, how good his food, though usually unkempt, tasted. Confusion clouded the broad blue sky that was the eyes of Germany as the blond-haired Aryan pondered. "Oh, Italia…" Murmured the physically superior country, squeezing the irrevocable turquoise of his gaze shut. Eschewing from his provoking thoughts, Germany gradually opened his eyes and snatched his overcoat off the hook near his office door. "Italia," he expressed as he slung the coat over his shoulders. "I don't want to, but I presume I must go bail you out."

Pulling his SS cap over his shapely, robust countenance, Germany stepped out of his office, ready to rescue his only true friend.

"So you are keeping him here?" Queried Germany as he stood in the throes of one of Tunisia's most reverential prisons- torture and murder ran rampant here, and the prisoners equally merciless as their captors. Frankly, Germany was frightened for his delicate Ally. Italy wouldn't have lasted a second, had he not been sequestered- he'd have been raped, throat slit, eyes gouged out and a myriad of other things that Germany felt too nervous to think about. He shook his head, swallowing to satiate his fears.

"We are," confirmed America, walking nary a few steps ahead of Germany down the quarreling corridor, full of voices of moaning and gawping prisoners. Beside him was the silvery head of Russia, whose neck was swaddled in that baffling creamy pink scarf of his. Once asked, Russia had corroborated that it was to symbolize the cold climate of his country, but Germany couldn't be sure. Secretly, he assumed it was used for something else, though he couldn't quite put his finger on what. "We have agreed on the settled sum?"

"Twenty thousand Reich marks, converted into currency accordingly to French, American and Russian policy," Germany relayed. He didn't think the sum was very high- actually, it was a bargain in exchange for one of the major Axis powers. Probably because no one collective of any living organism could stand Italy for long. Japan and Germany seemed to be the only exceptions to this case in point.

Russia nodded and sojourned in his footsteps a few feet before a barricaded prison door. "That will be adequate," he replied, turning his head slightly to give Germany one of his typical smiles. The pewter vantage point of Russia, when rigid, could spark sporadic fright throughout an enemy. But most of the time, the sebkha country's smile was perplexingly warm and could thaw even the most difficult of personalities. America also paused to stand stiffly beside his allied country. "We are keeping him in here. Hold on just a moment, the keys are somewhere in my pocket…" Reaching into the bottomless pit that was the pocket of the beige coat of Russia, the latter fingered aimlessly for the prison keys before fishing them out with a sheepish grin. Deftly, Russia unlocked the prison door and allowed it to swing ajar freely. His inane smile not wavering for a moment, the frigid country said, "I'll just leave you to him. He's been whining about pasta for the last hour."

"That's Italia, all right," Germany muttered under his breath. Russia gave a mirth-induced twitch of his lips. America blinked stoically, in an unusually blank mood today. As Germany ventured in, following the distant crows of "Ne, Doiiiitssuuuu is coming to get meeeee… I'm so happppyyyyy…" Germany reluctantly flickered his sight back on Russia and America at the edge of the threshold, both of whom had turned and were walking away. Stopping to watch the playful banter, Germany widened his eyes as he became a spectator to the rare event.

Russia and America conversed in low monotones, a cheesy grin still plastered on the face of Russia. America poked his shoulder questioningly, and Russia only proceeded to smirk even brighter, beaming at the more inexperienced country. Leaning over, Russia murmured something in America's ear, the preceding of which laughed as America blushed anxiously.

I wonder… if there's something going on between them?

"Ahhh! Loookie! Ve~ Doitsu, you came to save me after all!" A bolt out of the blue, Germany felt an unexpected pressure on his shoulders as two petite, dainty hands clamped onto them and a dead weight suspended off him. Italy had latched on from behind and was now swaying back and forth pendulously.

"Italia?" Germany tried, attempting to allay his worries and make sure that this was indeed his mischievous Italian hanging from him.

"Ne, Doitsu?"

"Oh, Italia," Germany exclaimed, spinning about so rapidly that Italy's hands were roughly wrenched from his vice grip. Taking the Italian in his arms, Germany buried his nose in Italy's hair, which smelled delightfully like a musty mix of prison sweat and… tortellini. "I am so glad you're all right. This is a very crass prison, you know. I was worried that you'd been hurt."

"Ve~ Doitsu, I can't breathe!" Croaked Italy, squirming in the ironclad embrace of Germany. Flushing, Germany gulped apologetically and released Italy. Italy withdrew, gasping and wheezing as he collected his breath and smiled weakly up at Germany. "Ne… Doitsu… I thought… you'd never come!"

"I'm very sorry," Germany professed profusely. "I was… a bit caught up in some thinking." About you, Italia. Unintentionally, at least.

Italy impulsively became flummoxed, his carefree face morphing into that of curiosity. "You were thinking about me, Doitsu?"

AHH! I said that ALOUD? Germany felt that he had involuntarily pickled himself. "I- er- just about ways to bail you out!" It was a flaccid excuse, and Germany himself even knew this. But as absurd as Italy was, perhaps he would succumb to Germany's evasion.

And sure enough, the nonplussed stare of Italy became calm once more. "Ve~ Good job, Doitsu!" Italy praised, giving Germany a lame thumb's up. "I always knew you were super smart!"

"… Right," Germany said warily, a bit embarrassed as to how his facile excuse had worked. "Now what do you say we get out of here? I'm sure Japan is wondering where we are."

"Ne? Ah, right, Nihon!" Italy said excitedly. "I want him to teach me how to use a sword again, too."

"That may be lethal, Italia," Germany said discerningly. Caesura. Hesitantly, Germany leaned in and gave Italy a shy peck on the cheek. "… You are very cute, I'll have you know."

Italy inextricably turned a shade of beet red. "D-Doitsu, n-ne, why did you do that?"

Germany did not reply. Instead, he interlinked his fingers with Italy's, tugging him gently by the hand. "Come, now, Italia," he whispered. "The world is waiting."

His face the tinge of cherries and heart beating a faster than a car on the German autobahn, Italy vacillated before following Germany out of the prison cell.

"Ne, Doitsu?"

"Yes, Italia?"

"You are such a man."

"… Uh, thanks."


Meanwhile, elsewhere in the world…

"Hey, Japan." Bulgaria schlepped in, yawning very informally before the prevalent Axis power as he sat, tentatively sipping a cup of steaming tea. "Have you seen Germany or Italy around? I need to parley with them."

Japan shrugged. "I don't know."

Bulgaria looked strained. "But they're your major allies!" He cried, exasperated. "How would you not know where they are?"

Instead of countering with a venomous answer, Japan gulped down the scant final drops of his tea. "Germany is probably going to save Italia from being captured again. I choose not to know where they are when this annually happens."

"But why not?" Bulgaria was honestly lost at Japan's logic.

Japan set his cup down. "Because the quiet is nice." He paused as if he was to say something more.

"Anything else?" Bulgaria asked.

"They're both idiots," Japan stated bluntly.

Bulgaria decided then not to ask any more questions.