World War Two

Allied Forces Meeting Room

Location: Unknown

Time: Unknown

'Will we have pasta? Pasta would be great!'

A thick batter of silence and shock smothered the neat, wood-panelled meeting room, only to be broken by an oblivious 've'. Every else's face had frozen into the same gobsmacked expression (with the exception of Russia), as if time had turned into a pocket watch and someone had pulled the little knob out.

Then, with a little push –

'HA HA HAAA! HOW DID HE GET IN?'

'GET THE BLOODY HELL OUT!'

'WHAT'S HE DOING HERE? THIS IS NOT SHOWING ANY AMOUR!'

'WHERE ARE THE GUARDS –ARU?'

'Ah…did he hear anything? I can always knock a hole out of his head...'

And outside, upon hearing the sudden (and motley) explosion of noise and flurry, Germany deflated, all his perfect hopes shattered. Not that it wasn't entirely unexpected.

19 May 2010

Germany's house

1837 GMT

He still felt a pang of slightly embarrassed queasiness whenever his thoughts strayed to that unfortunate memory. Everyone else had forgotten it, but Germany's hard-drive-like brain hadn't allowed him to hit the "DELETE" button. Italy's skills for spying (or any sort of activity which involved discretion, actually) had been clearly awful since the fateful day they met, and that was a pretty well-known, and generally, er, "accepted" fact. To Germany, though, this was an extremely serious and somewhat grim matter. Spying was inevitable, and it was essential, as a country, to do it right. Italy had to learn to do it right – and fast.

Germany had tried all he could to at least make Italy half-competent, but it never worked. That in itself was frustrating. Germany could do anything from making a car to throwing a hand grenade perfectly…except for when it came to Italy.

Germany sighed and frowned. He couldn't do anything; that's for sure. He'd tried a lot of late, but he couldn't bring himself to dash all of Italy's enthusiastic hopes of playing football whenever he [Germany] came around.

His efficient brain hit the obvious answer at once. He'd get someone else to do it!

Germany thought. He needed a country with a good spy reputation. And the answer was yet another obvious one: England.

Of course! What with all that Scotland Yard and MI6 business, not to mention James Bond, England had to have some sort of talent in spy-training. The issue of England remembering that humiliating event would be almost nil, and there wouldn't be any post-war resentment now; even only twenty years after the war, they were on reasonable terms, and now they were somewhat all fine. England simply had to accept Italy! He'd understand just how important spying was.

Picking up his extremely new and high-tech phone, Germany stabbed in the number rapidly as if to get it just over and done with, and waited nervously for him to pick up.

'Evening,' came England's voice on the other end of the line.

Germany cleared his throat and fiddled with a pen. 'Er, hello, it's Germany.'

'Oh. What do you want?'

England sounded a bit apprehensive and bored, if that was possible. Germany scratched his nose with the pen. Unfortunately, it was the tip, and he could see a funny blue blot when he went cross-eyed. He set the pen down quickly. How could he put it?

'Can-you-train-Italy-to-be-a-spy?' Germany blurted in one breath.

'Er…sorry?'

Taking a deep breath, he repeated what he said, only slower.

There wasn't any reply. If he didn't know better about technology, Germany would've thought that England had hung up.

'Hello? England!' Germany barked into the phone.

'Good grief,' said England, in an odd way. 'Italy? As if I'd say yes. Oh, yeh, 'cos Italy's a completely beautiful person to teach. Look, why would I want to teach Italy? I'm not actually sure if it's even possible, for one. Is he even capable of paying attention to anything that doesn't involve pasta?'

'Well, someone's got to do it, and you're the best candidate.'

'Why me? I can't! Only a complete git would.'

'Aren't you?'

'Excuse me?'

Germany said nothing. He couldn't risk getting England annoyed. He'd only strop off and Germany…and Italy…would be left floundering.

'All right,' Germany said. 'We'll have a compromise, OK? During the time when you're training Italy, I'll buy cars from you, I'll get my groceries from you, I'll listen to music from you, I'll watch your TV and films, I'll – '

'Cor, aren't you desperate.'

'But only on the condition that you must finish Italy's training. Will you teach him?'

There was a pause, and England sighed resignedly. 'Well, yeh, OK then, I will. I can't believe I'm saying this, but that is a pretty good compromise... for you. Deal?'

Germany sighed with relief. 'Deal.'

They hung up.

Barely a second after Germany had set it down, the phone exploded into a volley of ringing. He snatched it back up.

'Oh, Germany?'

'What?'

'I recommend Top Gear. TTFN.'

Wotcher! This is the author here...this is not part of the story.

Anyway, I'd like to thank my friend "sl8011" [.net/u/2334182/] for proofreading this. I'd also like to thank God for giving me the idea in the first place, and the film Johnny English.

I don't know if you're allowed to put the disclaimer down here, but I didn't want to spoil it. But anyway, I don't own Hetalia and the characters, and since I mentioned it, I don't own Scotland Yard, MI6, James Bond, and sadly, I don't own Top Gear.

By the way, Germany has really cool car factories. They're beautiful, bright, neat and really clean. Take Volkswagen for example.

Hope you've enjoyed!

~Cheerio, BritishInvaded ;)