Chrys' Secret Santa Fic

Title: I Can’t Explain
Recipient: Chrys
Type of gift: Fic
Rating: PG 13
Author: kira
Chars/Pairs: Germany/Italy, Prussia, Romano, Spain
Genres: romance
Warnings: none
Word Count: 1911
Summary: Germany kisses Italy, taking him completely by surprise. Italy, being Italy, beats a hasty retreat. Can their friendship survive?
Author’s notes: Thanks to my beta, Jen for reading this over for me.
Got a feeling inside (Can't explain)
It's a certain kind (Can't explain)
I feel hot and cold (Can't explain)
Yeah, down in my soul, yeah (Can't explain)
I said ... (Can't explain)
I'm feeling good now, yeah, but (Can't explain)
Dizzy in the head and I'm feeling blue
The things you've said, well, maybe they're true
I'm gettin' funny dreams again and again
I know what it means, but
Can't explain
I think it's love
Try to say it to you
When I feel blue…
From I Can’t Explain by Peter Denis Blandfor Townshend


For Chrys
<lj-cut>


“Hey, Germ-” Italy began, when his friend grabbed his wrist and pulled him close. Looking up at him in surprise, Italy tried to ask what was wrong, but Germany simply leaned in, kissing him long and hard. When they came up for breath, Italy’s eyes went wide and completely flustered by his friend’s behavior, pushed him away. It was like that disastrous Valentine’s Day, that neither one ever spoke of, happening all over again. Feeling like a coward, Italy turned tail and simply ran, leaving an equally flustered and completely mortified Germany in his wake.

Germany stood there, horrified at what he had done. He could not believe he had completely misread the signals his friend was giving off somehow again. Feeling worse than he had when his Valentine’s Day proposal awry, Germany turned once his little buddy had disappeared from sight and sadly went home. Berating himself over being so stupid, he felt he had lost his little buddy forever.

Italy had sprinted around the corner, and leaning against the building, he put a hand to his chest. His heart was beating wildly and he had the feeling it had nothing to do with his mad dash away from the object of his desire. In all the years he had known Germany and all the myriad of ways he had flirted with him, he had never done anything remotely like that and certainly never without prompting. He felt like the heroine in one of those silly books his friend loved, all breathless and giddy with excitement, until he realized that he probably had hurt Germany’s feelings by acting so stupid. Taking a few deep calming breaths, Italy poked his head out and looked around the corner. Instead of seeing his friend standing there, or better yet, heading towards him to apologize, Germany was nowhere to be seen. It was like he had simply vanished into thin air. Hand on his lips, Italy tried hard not to break into tears. “I’m sorry, Captain,” he said softly in Italian. The phrase, that he had used to utter during training or while fighting alongside Germany on the battlefield and now only used during board meetings, always brought a smile to his friend’s lips, however briefly. Now it rang hollow in his ears and the thought of never seeing that smile ever again directed his way, finally let loose the tears that had welled up in Italy’s eyes as he slowly headed home.

Back home, Germany was greeted by his dogs. Hanging up his coat, he noticed Berlitz was running back and forth from himself to the door. “Itachen’s not here.”

“Why not?” Prussia said as he walked out of the living room. He stood in the foyer, waiting for an explanation. “I thought he was coming over and you two were going to make spaghetti for dinner with Romano’s super secret gravy-sauce-whatever recipe.”

“He was, but he changed his mind,” Germany said as he pushed past him into the living room. He walked over to the sofa and did something that made Prussia pause when he saw it. He put his feet up on the coffee table and not only that, he still had his shoes on. Patting his leg, he also called Berlitz up to sit on his lap, although the little dog simply sat next him while she rested her head in his lap.

“You okay, West?” Prussia said. Without waiting for an answer, he hurried into the kitchen, and grabbing a couple of beers, Prussia returned with them. He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, as he walked over to the sofa. Sitting next to his brother, he handed him one.

Germany nodded and took the proffered beer. He said nothing while he drank and for once his brother didn’t push him into talking. Germany simply patted his dog, the others sitting at his feet, as he sat there, feeling sorry for himself. Before the silence got to be too unbearable, he said, “I’ll be fine, Brüder.”

“Uh, sure… oh-kay,” Prussia said. He finished his beer. “I guess since Itachen’s not coming, I’ll go make dinner.” He stood up and looked over at his brother. When Germany replied with a barely perceptible shrug, Prussia sighed softly. Taking his empty beer bottle with him, he headed towards the kitchen.

Across the way in the house he shared with his brother, Italy sat at the kitchen table, bawling his eyes out. Spain did his best to comfort the younger brother, while Romano bustled about, banging pots and pans around, and telling anyone that cared to listen in a mix of Spanish and Italian exactly what he thought about that stupid Potato-bastard.

“God help that bastard! I’m gonna kill him when I get my hands on him!” Romano swore.

“Romano, you’re not helping,” Spain said.

“I don’t care! That bastard deserves to die for making my brother cry all the time!” Roman waved the wooden spoon; he was using to stir the sauce, for emphasis. “Damn it!” he swore when he noticed the mess he had made. Grabbing a towel, he wiped it up.

Italy saw it and was immediately reminded of his beloved Germany. That set off a fresh round of tears, leaving Spain to throw up his hands in despair of ever calming the younger Italian nation down. “I’m supposed to be making dinner at Germany’s,” Italy wailed.

Spain heaved a long suffering sigh. Getting up from the table, he went over to the bottle of wine, sitting on the counter, and opened it. Pouring three glasses, he quietly handed one to each brother. He sat down and drank his own, thinking how nice and quiet it got once everyone started drinking. While it had not really solved anything, hearing Italy giggle and Romano stop grumbling was worth it. Spain hoped that in the morning, after a good night’s sleep and a pleasant meal, both Italian brothers would be feeling a lot better over what had happened.

However, a month would go by before Italy and Germany even spoke to one another, let alone saw each other. Things probably would have gone on like that indefinitely if not for the regularly scheduled World 8 meeting. Since France was hosting it, it not only promised to be a quick meeting, but one in which Germany and Italy assumed the other would skip. Germany because he considered such meetings to be a colossal waste of his time and Italy because he felt no one would miss him at such a short meeting, so neither one was prepared to run into the other one on the way into the boardroom.

“Uh, Italy,” Germany said. “Hi…” He was beyond embarrassed as images of their ill-fated kiss danced in his head and if a hole had suddenly opened up in the floor, he would have gladly jumped in it and hid.

“Germany…” Italy said. He was also embarrassed, but he wanted to try to make amends. Unfortunately, Romano pulled him along as he made his way inside the conference room.

“Out of our way, Potato-bastard!” the grumpy elder Italian brother said as he pushed past him.

All Italy could do was offer him an apologetic look over his shoulder at him, but in that instant their eyes met and Germany felt a shining glimmer of hope that things were not as bad as he feared. Before he could over analyze it, Prussia cackled in his ear, dragging him into the meeting. Germany sat at the conference table unable to concentrate while France droned on. He was glad his brother had come along as Prussia took notes and asked all the right questions as well as putting forth their proposed solutions. So he sat there, pretending to work, while looking up on occasion to steal a glance at his estranged best friend

Italy sat on the opposite side of the conference table, doing pretty much the same thing. He sketched Germany mostly from memory, popping his head up every so often to check his sketch against his “model.” Italy had missed his friend terribly and despite what Romano told him about not talking to him; Italy was determined to speak to him anyway.  When the meeting was over, Italy gathered his things and hurried towards the exit. “Hey, Germany! Wait!” he called out to his friend’s retreating form.

The German brothers stopped. “Go see what he has to say. You won’t be happy until you do, West,” Prussia said. “And don’t worry about Romano. Spain and I’ll deal with him.”

Germany watched his brother disappear into the crowd leaving the conference room. He went to wait for Italy out of the way of others, near the wall. When he caught sight of him, Germany felt his heart racing as a bunch of butterflies danced in his stomach. He was so afraid his little buddy was going to dash his hope of ever being his friend again, that he all he could do there was stand there and look miserable.

“Hey, Germany!” Italy smiled as he approached. “Are you feeling okay? I was going to ask you if you wanted to go get some gelato or as Big Brother France calls it, ‘la crème glacée.’ We don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I thought it would be nice. Big Brother France said there’s a little café down the street from here that makes the best gelato… I mean crème glacée! So you wanna go?”

Germany nodded dumbly at him. He was so happy things were back to normal that he wanted to kiss Italy again, but fear of undoing whatever happened to make his little buddy change his mind about them, left him rooted to the spot.

Italy stood on his tiptoes and peered into his friend’s face. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He reached up to feel his friend’s cheek for signs of a fever.

“Yeah…” Germany felt his cheeks heating up.

“Good! I’ve been wanting to try French gelato and Romano won’t come with me.” Italy pouted.

Germany simply nodded. “Me- me too,” he finally said.

“Yay! You have no idea how happy that makes me, Germany!” Italy threw his arms around his friend and kissed his cheek. When he realized what he had done, Italy stepped back, flustered.

“Ummm…” Germany said equally flustered.

Italy smiled and hugged him again. “Ve… Germany?” he said softly.

“What?”

“It’s okay if you want to kiss me again. I promise I won’t run away anymore… I’m sorry, but you took me by surprise that time and I didn’t know what to do and all and I panicked so I ran. Ve… Germany?” Italy blinked. His friend had closed his eyes, but when he puckered his lips, Italy giggled and puckered his own. They met halfway for a kiss and it was good and sweet and everything their other kiss should have been and more. Breaking the kiss, Italy giggled again. He was so happy he could burst that Germany still liked him, and he decided gelato or crème glacée or whatever it was called could wait. His friend was too good a kisser in his humble opinion to stop. A devious little smile on his lips, Italy said softly, “Kiss me again…” And again and again and again…

Germany, his cheeks stained a bright pink, took that as an order and being one who happily followed orders, he leaned in and did as he was told.