Just a simple one-shot, inspired by a certain romantic comedy that is near and dear to my heart.

And yes, this is a Ger/Bel fic. I looooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooove them together. ^_^

There should be more of them, really. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: They'd be a pairing that, if done right, would be all about forgiveness, new beginnings and redemption. It'd be so sweet and tender. ;u;

along that line, I've added little tidbits of history in here as well! I hope someone enjoys this little thing. :)

And don't worry. I'll get back to my other fics soon. ;)

Poppies

Germany sat in his car and stared up at the brick building for what seemed to be the twentieth time since he pulled up in front of this apartment. He was in the city of Brussels, a little ways to the south outside of the main city.

Germany sighed and gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles were white. He had been planning on doing this for some time now, but he had never worked up the courage to do it. Over the past several years, he had put it upon himself to travel to the homes of several different nations and personally apologize to each of them for his past actions. Most of them had been incredibly forgiving; some of them had been a bit awkward and just accepted his apology. But Belgium, Belgium had been one of the harder nations to visit.

He took a deep breath and with quick movements, slid out of his car. After grabbing a small bouquet of flowers from the backseat, he adjusted his collar, gave one quick look at himself in the side view mirror, and marched up to the apartment door. He stared at it for a minute, frowned, and then began to back away to the car again.

I can't do this, he thought. I just can't! She must absolutely hate me! She's always said as much...

But then he set his jaw and firmly stared at the apartment building. Retreat was not an option here. He had been putting this off for far too long. If he back out now, he would never forgive himself. Germany squared his shoulders and marched up to the door. He then noticed that it was the kind of apartment building that had a button pad where you had to call a certain resident to be let inside the building.

He found Belgium's personal name on the pad and, with a deep breath, pressed the button.

A couple seconds passed, but to Germany, it seemed like a couple of minutes.. Finally, he heard someone answer on the speaker below the pad.

"Who is it?" It was Belgium's voice. She spoke in Dutch.

Germany could vaguely understand her. He thankfully knew she understood German, so he felt free to respond in his native language.

"It's, erm,. Germany..." he said. He didn't feel like he knew her well enough to give his personal name.

A pause. Then he heard, in German, "What are you doing here?"

It wasn't a rude reply. It was mostly spoken out of surprise. Nevertheless, Germany still felt awkward.

"I... ah... Can I come in?"

"No," she answered quickly. "I don't think that's a good idea. You see... my - my place is a mess, and I - I have a terrible..."

Another pause. Germany frowned in confusion.

"A terrible... Ahhh... Ahh-CHOO!"

The sound of her sneezing echoed through the speaker and he was sure people down the street could hear that.. He heard Belgium groan and sniff.

"You heard that, right?"

"Ja..." And it gave him all the more reason to go inside to her. He was sure she would appreciate some help if she needed it while she was sick.

"Listen, I don't know how I got sick, but I have a terrible cough, they've put me on Mucinex - or whatever this stuff is called - not to mention I've been sleeping for hours on end, I'm dizzy and I've got a temperature."

Germany listened to her ramblings, unable to help notice that she sounded incredibly stuffed up (though he thought it made her voice sound kind of cute), until a man walked up next to him and began unlocking the door with a key. As Belgium continued to list reasons why Germany should go away, the man himself was walking through the door after the tenant and was heading up the stairs to Belgium's apartment.

Romano had been the one who had informed him of Belgium being sick: "Don't you even think of going to see her, you idiot! She's got a cold and you'll just make her worse!" And Romano had been the one that told him Belgium's apartment number. He had kind of intimidated the Italian for it, but he had been worried about the lady, not to mention he had finally worked up the courage to go talk to her. He knew he wouldn't have that advantage again, at least not for a long time.

"So I would really appreciate it if you would just go away!" Belgium said desperately. She sniffed. Of all the times for that man to visit, it had to be when she caught a cold! Although, it did give her an excuse to not let him in. The last person she wanted to see was the German man. Time heals all wounds, they said, but she wasn't sure if it could mend grudges, or if it could banish away resentment.

His countrymen had publicly apologized to her countrymen, but she had never been able to easily talk to Germany. She wasn't sure if it was out of her own resentment or just because she knew discussion between them would be awkward. She knew others like Ukraine and Lithuania were beginning to move on and Germany was very kind to them, but he had yet to approach her and speak to her about the past. In the meetings the nations held together, they had spoken to each other in a strictly business-like fashion, only looking at each other in the eye every now and then. There was no need to get personal in those meetings. But now? Now he was in her city, at her home, wanting to visit. She didn't know what to do.

There was a knock on the door. Belgium gasped. Warily, she peered through the peephole. Germany was outside of her door!

"Um... Belgium?"

She panicked. Of course she had to let him in! He would think her rude if she didn't! She took a quick sweeping glance around her apartment and saw tissues everywhere.

"Just a second!" she exclaimed. She darted around her kitchen and living room, gathering up tissues in bunches and throwing them in the trash bin. Mugs were lying on the coffee table and she dumped them in the sink.

"Just a second!" she shouted again.

She grabbed a robe from the bathroom (shutting the door in the process) and quickly threw it on. Being in just sweat pants and a tank top wouldn't suit. Then, with a deep breath, she swung open the door. There was Germany, as tall as ever, wearing a blazer and some dark jeans. She wouldn't admit to herself that he looked nice, though she did begin to feel self-conscious about how frumpy she probably looked.

She also noticed that he was holding something behind him.

"Hello."

"Hello," he said.

She raised her chin. "What do you want?" She spoke in German, figuring that his Dutch wasn't exactly top notch.

To her surprise, he looked bashful.

"I heard you had a cold. I-I was worried."

Belgium blinked. Worried? About her?

"And I just..." Germany paused and peered around the doorway.

"Do you have company?" he asked.

"Huh?" Belgium frowned but then she turned and realized she had left the television on!

"Oh!" She chuckled. "No, no. I was just watching something."

She let him in and Germany watched as she walked over to the living room. He noticed that the television was on. She seemed to be watching some sort of cartoon that had a red-headed man and a little white dog in it. Belgium shut the show off and turned back to him, frowning.

"All right, you've seen me. As you can see, I'm doing all right. I won't die or any-"

She paused for a minute and sneezed.

"-Or anything," she finished, blowing her nose after speaking. Germany just watched her silently, amused. Even when she was sick, he thought Belgium looked … pretty. Her blonde curls were mussed as if a hand had been playing with them and she had no ribbon in her hair. It was the first time he had seen her without one and, well, he still thought she was cute. Actually, he was almost surprised to find how cute he thought she was. He even found that her red nose made her cute.

Belgium didn't like that he was just standing there looking at her. She huffed, stomped over to the door and opened it. She just frowned at him, indicating that it was time for him to leave. He knew it, too and decided that now was a good time to bring the bouquet out from behind him.

"I … I brought you flowers," he said a bit nervously.

Belgium's eyes widened. Sure enough, the parcel he held in his hands looked very much like a wrapped bouquet of flowers.

"Ohhhh..." She groaned and stomped her foot in exasperation. Why was he being so blasted nice?! He was making it extremely hard for her to dislike him.

"Thank you," she finally groused out. She took it from him and once again, gestured to the open door.

But Germany wasn't ready to leave yet. He gently took the flowers from her.

"Here," he said, "I'll put these in some water for you."

Once again, Belgium was left dumbstruck.

"No, that's all right," she said feebly. "I Can-"

"Belgium." Germany spoke quietly and firmly. He looked into her eyes and gently laid a hand on her shoulder.

"You're sick. You need to rest. Let me help you."

Belgium remained quiet. The look in his eyes wasn't cold and cruel as it had once been. He now looked at her with kindness and concern. Belgium began to feel confused. Had Germany really changed? Many of the other countries he had attacked had told her he was different; that he had repented of his ways. As Belgium watched him, she began to wonder, was this really true?

He pulled out a chair from her table and nodded.

"You should sit down," he said.

Belgium's shoulders sagged, and she suddenly realized how tired she was. She let the door swing shut and dragged her feet over to the chair, plopping down on it.

"Do you have a vase?" She heard him ask.

"Uhh... In the pantry, I think..." She muttered.

She heard him rummaging around in the pantry, and then heard the sound of water running, which meant he must have found a vase. Belgium shook her head.

"Never would have thought I'd have you... here... in my kitchen," she muttered.

"Yes, I know," he answered quietly.

"How did you know I was sick?"

"Romano told me."

"Ohhhh," she sighed and rested her head on the table. Her head was beginning to hurt.

"He says hello, by the way. Said he'd 'beat my ass if I tried anything funny'."

Belgium smiled. "That's Romano," she said fondly. "I love that Italian."

Germany glanced at her. "He seems to be very fond of you."

She shrugged. "Well, we grew up together." She laughed a little. "Whenever he thought I was in trouble, he'd wrap his arms around my neck and say, 'I'll protect you, principessa'." She quoted him with a bad Italian accent and chuckled. "He'd always yell at Spain whenever he thought..."

She stopped and looked up at Germany.

"I don't know why I'm telling you all this..."

Germany didn't say anything. He wanted to say that he was enjoying their conversation; that he wanted to hear more about her when she was younger. It saddened him that she didn't feel like she could talk to him. He brought the vase full of flowers with him and set them on the table.

The flowers were poppies, Belgium's favorite flower. She stared at them for a minute before looking up at Germany.

"Poppies?"

He nodded. "They're your favorites, aren't they?"

She reached out and touched one of the petals.

"Yes... But how did you know?"

She saw his face redden slightly. "I asked around."

Belgium didn't know what to say. He was being so nice that she wanted to cry. Did he realize what this flower meant to her? Did he know the significance it held for her and her people? She was about to ask him, but he cleared his throat just then and said,

"Would you like some tea? That would help your cold, wouldn't it?"

"Y-yes. Thank you." Belgium swallowed. The headache was getting worse and she didn't really care that he was serving her in her own home. She just wanted to lie down.

"I'm going to go sit on the sofa, all right?"

"Fine. You want some honey?"

"Yes, please."

Belgium took the vase of flowers with her into the living room, set them down on the coffee table and curled up in a blanket on the couch. She rested her head on the arm and touched her forehead. She would have to take some painkillers soon.

Germany heard her coughing in the next room and quickly searched for some mugs in her kitchen cabinets. Things were actually going better than he had hoped they would. Even though she was sick, he hoped she would be able to listen to him when he talked to her about their pasts. The kettle began to whistle and he poured the hot water into two mugs.

"Germany," he heard her call. He quickly went into the living room, thinking she needed something.

"Yes?"

"Why are you here, really?" she asked. She was lying on the couch with her hand resting on her forehead.

"It wasn't just to check up on me and to give me flowers, was it?"

Here goes nothing.

"Well," he said. "I wanted to talk to you about... Where do you keep your tea?"

"Top drawer next to the sink."

"Oh." After a minute of adding the tea and the honey into the water, he came into the living room with the two mugs. He gave her one and sat down in a chair next to her holding the other. She watched as he took off of his blazer to reveal a blue button-up shirt. She tried not to notice how the shirt's color brought out the blue in his eyes.

"You wanted to talk to me?" she asked.

Germany nodded. "I just... I came here to, well..." His face reddened again and Belgium found herself smiling a bit at his embarrassment. She had to admit, he was very handsome. Even back then he had been handsome, but she would have considered herself a traitor if she had admitted as much.

"I wanted to say..." He set down the coffee mug and leaned forward.

"I am sorry."

Belgium looked into his eyes. There was nothing but sincerity in them.

"I am so sorry," he continued, "for what I did to you... all those years ago."

There were no tears in his eyes, but his voice shook ever so slightly. Belgium found herself tearing up, however. Her headache was getting worse.

"I know you're probably wondering why I didn't say this earlier, but the truth is, I was afraid to."

"Afraid?" she asked quietly, sniffing.

"I was too ashamed. I didn't know how you would react." Suddenly he chuckled. "I guess it was a bit cowardly of me to come do this when you're sick, but... Well, there it is."

Belgium looked away and just sipped her tea. He was asking for her forgiveness. Now would she actually forgive him?

"Germany..."

"I know it might be a little late to ask for forgiveness," he said quickly. "And you have every reason to hate me."

She then looked straight into his eyes.

"I don't hate you."

He looked at her, surprised, but then looked away, suddenly feeling bashful again.

"Oh..." He muttered.

The fact that Belgium told her to his face that she didn't hate him, gave him the feeling as if a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Truthfully, the reason why he hadn't immediately gone to Belgium to apologize to her was because he didn't want to see the anger and supposed hate in her eyes when she looked at him. It hurt too much.

For the past several years, after he had repented and changed his ways, Germany had realized how enamored he had become of Belgium's culture. Her people had practically started the oil painting, her city was beautiful, she had delicious desserts, and her beer...

He could remember when he had first tasted Belgian beer. His brother had introduced it to him.

"You should try this, West! It's almost as good as our beer!" Prussia had exclaimed, holding a mug of beer in front of Germany's face, and grinning.

"Hmpf. I highly doubt it can be as good as ours," he had answered. Germany was very critical when it came to beer.

"Well, let's see you try it, and then you can judge it!"

Germany snatched the mug from his brother's hand and took a couple of sips before taking a full drink. It turned out that his brother was right. The drink was absolutely delicious, maybe just as good as their own beer!

"I think I'm in love," he murmured. Prussia laughed and slapped him on the back.

"I told you!" He exclaimed. "Wanna know where I got that?"

"Of course!" Germany replied. He had to find out who made this so he could ask them to marry him. Or at least let him give them all his money for their recipe.

"It was Belgium."

And that had been that. As Germany sat there looking at the woman sitting across from him, he took a deep breath and spoke in a quiet voice.

"I want to be your friend."

Belgium looked at him for a minute. "Oh," she then said, just as quietly.

"I know it might be a fruitless request, but, I thought I'd just try to achieve the impossible." He was joking a little, and smiled wryly at her, but inwardly, he was in earnest.

His response seemed to amuse if not move the lady, as she smiled at him. She looked at the poppies. Could she forgive Germany? Could they be friends?

"Do you know why poppies are my favorite flower?" she asked.

"Tell me," he said.

"You know about the Remembrance Poppies, right?"

He nodded. "After the First World War, poppies bloomed on the fields in Flanders, as well as in France and Gallipoli, right?"

"Right. They're used as a symbol of remembering those who have given their lives for their country, but I also like to see them as a sign of new beginnings, or rebirth." She smiled. "In such a place where there was so much death, the fact that such beautiful flowers were able to grow... I don't know, I guess... It's like we can begin again, even after going through tragedy..."

She stopped and shyly looked away. Her cold was making her unable to think clearly, and she figured he would think she was just spewing out nonsense.

"Ja," she heard him say. "I - I can see that."

Belgium, again surprised, looked back at him.

"I've been there," he continued, looking down on the floor. "I've been to Flanders Fields."

"You have?"

"Yes. I wanted to - to pay my respects..."

He heard her sniff again and the room was quiet. He wanted to say something and was trying to come up with something to say, when he heard,

"I forgive you..."

His glance darted to her face. "You...what?"

"I do forgive you, Germany," she said, but she wouldn't look at him. She wiped her nose with a tissue. "I think … It was the poppies that made me decide to."

She could almost feel him looking at her, and she cleared her throat. Suddenly, she felt uncomfortable.

"I... My head hurts..."

She stood up and headed to her bedroom. Germany watched her and she stopped next to his chair, looking down at him.

"Thank you for stopping by, Germany," she said quietly. She laid a hand on his arm and Germany smiled. He rested his hand on hers and inwardly marveled at how soft her hand was.

"I can get you some medicine if you want," he offered.

She smiled. "Why are you being so nice?"

He stood up. "Let's just say that I'm making up for lost time."

The look of appreciation she gave him made his stomach flip flop.

"Don't worry about the medicine," she said. "I can get it from the bathroom."

He slowly followed her into the bedroom and hovered nervously outside the door. As she pulled the blankets up to her chin, she groggily smiled and indicated that he was allowed to come in by patting the bed.

"My head's starting to get fuzzy," she said as he sat beside her. "Do you mind staying here until I fall asleep?" She didn't know why, but she now felt comfortable with him near.

He hesitantly took hold of her hand, and when he saw that she didn't mind, he held it in both of his.

"I will. Now get some rest, Belgium."

She nodded and gave him a sweet smile before closing her eyes. She soon fell asleep and Germany watched her, continuing to hold her hand in both of his.

He smiled. She looked just as lovely when asleep as she did when awake. As much as he would have liked to stay with her to make sure she got enough rest, he knew he should probably leave. He reluctantly got up and made sure the blankets were snugly tucked in around her, and before he left, he gently smoothed the hair away from her face. The future bode well for him concerning Belgium. He hoped they would be able to become close friends in the future.

He brushed his knuckles against her cheek and thought that perhaps they could be more than just friends in the future?

The long-distance future, he chided himself.

He left the apartment and drove away, pleased with how well his visit had gone.