A/N: Damn, man, I can't stop writing these things. This is screwing me over big time, like freakin' crazy. I hate it…but I can't stop. Anyways, I wanted to continue on the Prustria tangent, but I had the overwhelming desire to write something purposely centered on GerIta, because I haven't, yet, and it would certainly be my OTP, if Prustria wasn't.
This one is so much longer than the first two…haha. I got carried away. A rambling Italy is fun to write. I remember years ago, my uncle had commented about me talking with my hands, saying something along the lines of "Why do you talk with your hands? You're not Italian." I didn't understand it then, but years later, I finally do. But you don't care about that, so just ignore it, or whatever.
-NarutoKyuu

(Warnings~ uh…shonen-ai/slash (boyxboy), failed attempts at humor, coarse language, possibly incoherent sentences, and, as always, probably a little OOCness. Still getting a hang of the characters
Notes~ somewhat linked to Some Things Are Better Left Unsaid and And Actions Speak Louder Than Words
Parings~ GermanyxItaly, mentions of PrussiaxAustria.)
((Are disclaimers really necessary on a site like this?))

A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words

The more Germany thought about it, the more he realized that he had a near instinctive need to protect Italy. It was almost the same as the compulsory urge to keep a watchful eye on Prussia whenever he could. But that was preposterous. Okay, so he couldn't rightfully believe that Italy could fully take care of himself, the huge crybaby that he was, but that didn't warrant an almost protective need to take care of the noisy nation, did it?

He stared at the nation across the table that was currently babbling some nonsense or other as he thought.

"–and, and, I thought it was going to be boring again, today, but then Austria just made everything so much more interesting! Did you know that they're together? I wonder how long they've been together. Do you know? Of course you know, you're Germany!" In addition to the excited chatter escaping the redhead's mouth were swift, yet sweeping, arm motions.

He was being much too loud. Especially since they were in public. "Feliciano."

And he just kept talking. And gesturing. He was going to knock something over at this rate. Perhaps his drink. That would be a mess. After several more attempts to get the nation's attention, Germany grew irritated and simply grabbed Italy's waving arms and held them against the table. That shut him up.

Relieved, it wasn't until he noticed Italy's half-confused, half-frightened expression that he realized he should explain.

He cleared his throat. "We're in public, Feliciano," he clarified, putting an extra emphasis on the other's public name, hoping beyond hope that Italy would catch on for once and understand that naming everyone after nations, rather loudly, in the middle of a restaurant would raise unwanted questions. He supposed he could come up with a plausible reason as to why they referred to each other as countries (some form of absurd nicknames, maybe) but Italy should know better than to make it a habit ('should' being the operative word), and it would be better to nip the bud before it blossomed…or something like that.

Italy giggled. "Your hands feel nice, Ludwig!"

That was…better? Wait. What? Germany looked down to the table where – what the hell? He could distinctly remember grabbing Italy's wrists, not his hands; how in the world had their fingers laced together? Forcing down a blush, he tried to keep himself from removing his hands too quickly. "U-uh, just don't forget again, okay?"

Italy smiled widely as he nodded, before happily continuing his rant as if he had never stopped. "Roderich looked very happy today, even though he was acting a little funny. I never thought he'd do something like that, especially in the middle of a meeting and everything, but I guess no one was paying attention to what Ameri-…uh, ve…ve…Alfred was saying, but still! Ve, did you notice where they went, Ludwig?"

Yes, he had. It was sort of hard not to notice Prussia all over Austria, now that he knew. In fact, he felt a little idiotic at not having noticed earlier than he had and could almost (almost) understand Austria's pain at the rest of the world's obliviousness.

But he wasn't going to tell Italy that. It was that compulsory need to protect Italy, again. Well, in this type of situation, it was a little questionable, Italy being Italy and all. He was completely sure that Italy, despite being air-headed and exuding innocence, knew more about sex than Germany would ever want to even begin to imagine that he knew, and that Italy wouldn't hesitate to tell him all that he knew, should Germany be possessed to ask, with no shame whatsoever.

Yet, it still unnerved Germany to think about Italy like that, no matter how true it was, so most of the time he lived in denial about Italy's unabashed innocence hence the need to protect Italy against even visuals of that. …Forget the numerous times Italy had caught Germany in…the middle of…viewing questionable…activities…No. He wasn't going to think about that.

"–think, Ludwig? Ludwig? Are you listening? Ve~ Ludwig?" Italy whined. Apparently, Italy hadn't noticed Germany's lack of response (like many times before), or wasn't even expecting a response, and had continued on his little one-sided conversation until he had finally asked a question that he noticed Germany had yet to respond to. "Are you sick, Ludwig? You look sick. Should we go back to the hotel?"

"N-No." Germany cleared his throat. "It's all right. I'm fine."

Italy tilted his head to the side in question for a second before shaking it off and smiling. "Oh, that's good! 'cause then I'd have to take care of you and I'm not good at taking care of things, you know? I'm scared I'd actually make it worse, so it's good that you're not sick." Italy's smile actually changed. It was subtle, and Germany wasn't sure that Italy was even aware that it had changed, but at the end of his spiel, for a split second, Italy's smile had softened from his usual cheer. It was more…intimate…not like his usual, casual affections. But as soon as it had appeared, it disappeared so quickly that Germany felt that he had imagined it. "Are you going to finish that?"

Germany silently pushed his plate across the table to switch it out with Italy's empty one and did the best he could to clean the table. Looking at Italy for a few seconds, he finally gave into the urge and grabbed a napkin to clean off the other nation's face while muttering, "Don't be so messy."

Italy only smiled – his casual smile, Germany noted – chirped a quick, "Thanks, Ludwig!" before going back to the task of artfully eating and talking at the same time, without making it disgusting.

As Germany wondered whether he had just imagined Italy's softened expression earlier, there was a vague part in the back of his mind that thought that Italy should get an award for being able to talk and eat and talk like that.

xxx

"Germany, Germany, Germany!" Italy let himself in, like always, and Germany considered taking the key away from him one day.

It was a thought that frequently crossed his mind, but he never acted on it. Was it that need to protect Italy, again? That he needed to be sure that Italy would have some place safe to run to, should he find himself in need of one?

When Italy flung his arms around him, embracing him from behind, chair and all, and he didn't even flinch, Germany absently wondered whether he should be proud or worried of the accomplishment before he responded, "What is it, Italy?" Italy didn't sound panicked, but Germany could never be too sure.

"Watch a movie with me, Germany!"

Germany gently removed Italy's arms from their grip around his neck before responding. "I'm busy. Can't you go watch with your brother or something?"

Italy, who had moved to gingerly sit on the desk (avoiding all paperwork and stationery – Germany had taught him well), twiddled with his fingers for a moment, avoiding Germany's eyes, before he said, "Ve, Romano's mad at me, right now." He whined at the thought. "I don't understand why, though! So I get he doesn't really like the idea, but I don't understand why he has to be so mad about it! I mean, it's not like I can help it or anything, and it's really the only way I know how to–" Italy abruptly stopped, face turning red. Curious. "Ve! Never mind about that; anyways, Romano doesn't even want to talk to me right now, and besides, I want to watch a movie with you!"

Germany sighed. He would be more concerned about how it sounded like Italy was asking him on a date…if that wasn't the way Italy asked him to do a lot of things all the time. Germany was about to refuse (he had a lot of work to get done), but he made the mistake of looking at Italy and his big, amber eyes and for a moment Germany was willing to bet anything that Italy was imitating a kicked puppy on purpose. He gave in. He had a soft spot for canines, after all. "Fine."

The movie wasn't…terrible. Sure, he had gotten a weird stare from the kid manning the ticket booth but Italy had insisted on seeing that movie, despite the undeniable chick-flick qualities of it, and so Germany had no choice; but…if he had to admit it, he was sure the movie would have had better appeal to its target audience…of which he was not a part of, age or gender-wise. In fact, Italy wasn't either, yet it seemed as if it appealed to him just as much as if he had been a teenaged female. Germany didn't want to think about it too much.

Italy rambled about it all the way home, and Germany had never felt that the trip to Italy's house had ever been that long. He'd almost snapped, but felt that it was worth it, somehow, when he got to see Italy's other smile again, for even longer this time, before Italy disappeared into his house.

The entire way home Germany wondered if he was imagining it again, and then wondered about what that would mean if he was imagining such an expression on Italy, directed towards him. That was another thing on his long list of things he tried hard to not think too much about.

xxx

Days quickly became weeks and weeks quickly became months, as they were wont to do whenever all Germany wanted was for time to slow to give him time to think. Okay, so he really didn't want to think about it, but it was unavoidable. Italy was regularly affectionate to anything that breathed, and he had been like that for as long as Germany had known him. It was no big deal, after he had gotten used to the casual, friendly touches that would probably literally kill Italy if he stopped. But, after months now, Germany was certain that he wasn't hallucinating and that, at seemingly random moments, Italy's smiles and Italy's touches would stop being casual and take on a more intimate feel.

It had never happened before, not that Germany had noticed anyways, and it was only a recent development, but it occurred more often as time went on and he had no reason to think that anyone else noticed any changes. Hell, he wasn't even sure if Italy was aware of the changes himself – there were no changes in the rest of Italy's body language or speech, and that within itself was interesting.

And it bugged the crap out of him, to say the least. He wanted to know what caused the change and why – enough to stupidly ask about it, one day.

It was a fairly normal evening, relaxing after dinner. Okay, so he was still getting used the picture of Prussia and Austria – it wasn't cuddling, no, he refused to refer to it as such – sitting closely next to each other on the sofa without starting an argument, but other than that, it was normal. The dogs, his babies – not that Germany would ever admit that to anyone – were even mellower than usual, content to stretch in front of the fireplace, piled on top of each other, and Germany was keen on finishing the novel he had been reading. But he couldn't concentrate on the words in front of him as his mind wandered.

Italy had visited earlier in the day, insisting that he cook a large meal, for whatever reason, and that Germany had to help him. This was usual, and Germany still didn't trust Prussia around Italy (there was that protective need again) even though he was sure Austria could more than handle the unruly nation, and so he had agreed. He didn't realize his mistake until it was too late. There were those smiles and touches again, and he was positive Italy wasn't aware of them by now. It irked him to no end.

"Whoa, West, I know how you can get absorbed in books and all, but don't you think that's a little much, even for you?"

Prussia's voice brought him back to reality and he blankly looked at the book in his hands. The poor thing was straining under his grip. He had to consciously loosen his grip before he could close it and set it aside.

Prussia's brow scrunched together and, in a sudden bout of ingenuity, asked, "Are you okay, West? You look kind of funny."

So they weren't the best people to ask, but it was worth a shot. "Have you noticed anything…different…about Italy, lately?"

Prussia and Austria shared a look (freaky) before Prussia shook his head and Austria replied. "Is there something wrong with him?"

Wrong? It wasn't…wrong, exactly, but it sure as hell was weird. "No…At least I don't think so. It's just…" Well. This was awkward. No one in the room did feelings. It was mutually understood. And yet, here he was. Talking about his feelings. Wow. "I think he's been acting differently…around me, at least…"

Austria was quick to respond. "Have either of you done anything that might've caused him to question your feelings towards him?"

That was an odd way to word it. Sure, Germany understood what Austria was trying to say, but it was still strange. Another thing Germany didn't want to think about too much. "No. It's nothing like that." Italy avoiding him he could deal with. It didn't take much to deal with that. "He's…There's been something…odd about the way he smiles and touches me." When all he got in response were two severely confused expressions, he tried to elaborate. "He doesn't act or talk any differently; it's just that…there's this new…almost…intimate," he had to repress a cringe at that word – he didn't do well with intimacy, "feeling sometimes, when he smiles, or touches me."

Austria still appeared at least somewhat confused, but Prussia had a wide grin across his face. That didn't bode well for Germany. Prussia laughed. "You like Italy!"

Germany was the one confused now even as Austria's confusion slowly disappeared. "Well, of course I do, I mean, he is my frie–"

Prussia cut him off before he could even finish. "No, West, I mean: you like Italy! As in, you love-like him. You have romantic feelings for him. You want to kiss him. Hold him. Protect him," Prussia's voice seemed to trail off the more he continued, and Germany almost missed the way Prussia's hand had tightened around Austria's, "From everything…"

That was beyond strange; but wait, what was it that Prussia had said? He loved Italy? Germany frowned at the floor as he thought and leaned back in his chair. Love? Is that what it was? Sure, he had the uncontrollable need to protect Italy from damn near everything, but he had figured that had simply stemmed from the amount of rescuing he had done, during the War. It was logical enough…maybe… Did he want to hold him? He thought carefully about it. Well, he didn't mind as much whenever Italy would hug him, or demand a greeting kiss. But…he didn't want to hold him, did he? But then again, there were those times in the middle of the night, when he would wake up and notice Italy burying himself under the covers next to him, that instead of just turning around to face the other way, he had actually wanted to…hug…Italy…because he was sure there was a distinctive reason that Italy had run all the way to his house in the middle of the night, and it was that absolute need to protect Italy that was talking and then he would just ignore it – Italy always managed to wedge himself between the wall and Germany before Germany woke up somehow, anyways – turn around, and fall asleep again. Okay. So Germany definitely wanted to protect Italy, and he maybe got the urge to hold him, sometimes. But that was because Italy reminded him of a particularly hyperactive puppy…right? Right.

What was that third thing? …Kiss. That was preposterous. If he had ever had the urge to kiss Italy, that would break the puppy theory, and he couldn't accept that. Because he couldn't love Italy. Not in the way that Prussia was thinking, at least, because that was insane.

Wasn't it…?

He wasn't sure.

And it irritated him, when he couldn't come up with an answer all night. In fact, he didn't come up with an answer until well into the next day, when Italy had come over again, begging Germany to go out with him.

There was that touch on his arm, and that smile on his face, as Italy tried to pull him out the door. And that's when he realized that he would always do what Italy wanted, to protect him; he wouldn't mind holding Italy as the only form of comfort he could offer; and, he really wouldn't mind pushing Italy against the door and kissing him.

And that's when he realized that he was in some deep shit, because Italy sure as hell had no idea that he was doing anything to cause this.

And despite this all, he still went along shopping with Italy, because he had to make sure Italy would be okay.

xxx

"Germany?" Italy tentatively poked his head into Germany's study and Germany could already feel concern rising at the back of his mind.

"Yes, Italy?"

Italy shuffled into the room, still hovering by the door, and fiddled with something rather large and rectangular behind his back. It was a canvas, he could recognize as much, but the back was facing him so he couldn't tell what was on it. "Where's Prussia?"

"Out with Austria," Germany replied uncertainly, setting his pen down to show that Italy had his full attention. "What is it?"

Italy fumbled more with the still hidden canvas as he spoke, "Ve, well, remember when I told you that Romano was mad at me? It was months ago, but of course you remember, you're Germany after all, and anyways, I never told you why Romano was mad at me and this is sort of the reason and sorry it took so long, but I had to do it secretly so Romano wouldn't start yelling and ruining it and make me start over again and, and…ve!" Italy scrunched his eyes shut and whipped the canvas out from behind him, shoving it forward for Germany to take.

Germany gingerly took the large canvas and looked at the painting. It appeared to be a meadow of some sort, perhaps, with trees nearby and various flowers dotting the grass and maybe a house in the back. The lines were soft and the colors pale pastels. There was a sort of nostalgia to it…like it reminded him of a time, very long ago, when things were just a little simpler. There were two, oddly pink colored, rabbits nestled inconspicuously in a corner, but Germany waved this off. Italy had painted this, after all. Overall, it was a very warm, comforting landscape, and after a few more seconds it suddenly clicked. This was that smile, and that touch, all neatly wrapped up in a pretty, little painting. He was still positive that Italy had no idea he was doing such things, but, in a way, this intentional, alternative form of the unintentional smiles and touches made up for it.

When he finally looked back to Italy, it looked like he was about to fall apart at the seams. "D-Do you like it, Germany? I-I understand if you don't, it's just, I didn't know how else to say this, and…I've felt like this for a long time but I really just didn't know how, and Romano's so mean about it that I never wanted to say anything, but then you're always so nice to me that I can't help it and I don't know what it is but–"

Germany didn't grab Italy's arms this time, or his wrists, or his even his hands. He had carefully paced the canvas on his desk behind him and gave into his wants. Urges. Needs. Whatever they were, he kissed Italy. If he thought about it, it was rather ironic yet fitting that Italy, of all nations, was unable to find any way to express his love other than through a painting, but, really, a picture was worth a thousand words – and even though Italy could barely shut up most of the time, it still had some worth.

When he pulled away and looked into Italy's bright, amber, puppy-dog eyes, he couldn't help but give him a small smile because maybe, just maybe… "It's…beautiful, Veneziano." …Prussia was right, for once.

Italy's eyes brightened impossibly more, and he smiled – it was wide, but it was that smile – as he looped his arms around Germany's neck to pull him into another kiss. "Really?" he asked excitedly, once they had parted again.

Germany nodded, silent as his embarrassment finally caught up to him.

"Will you put it up in your room, Germany?"

And of course, he could never say no to that face. "O-of course, Veneziano," he assured, even as he could no longer keep the heat from reaching his face.

It wasn't long after that they had left to Germany's room to hang the canvas once they had found an adequate frame for it. Germany had never thought much of the décor of his room, it was actually rather plain and his walls practically bare with the exception of one other painting that he rarely looked at anymore, but Italy had immediately honed on the other painting, as if he had never seen it before – which was probably the case, because Italy never really looked at the room – he was always concentrated on either Germany or the floor, maybe the small bookcase if he was feeling adventurous.

"Did you paint this, Germany?"

Germany paused in the middle of trying to perfectly hang Italy's painting – if it was crooked it would forever bother him, and he hated drilling holes in his wall – and looked over his shoulder to the image in question. He hummed in acknowledgement. "Brother did."

Italy frowned. There was no way he could miss that frown – such an expression was so rare on the other nation's face. "I never really liked expressionism much…When did he paint this?"

Germany lowered his arms into a more comfortable position as he thought, staring more closely at the painting. "The 'fifties, maybe," he finally responded, as he thought about what had possessed him to hang that particular image. Sure, he had favored it for some reason he couldn't quite remember, but it was rather…dark… "Brother has a similar one, from me, I think," he absently added. Maybe that was why?

Italy hummed in thought before quickly taking down the painting before Germany could object. "Well this won't do! I'm sure it means a lot, so you can keep it somewhere else, but certainly not in your room! That's just depressing," Italy pouted. "And besides, if you have Prussia's painting and mine up at the same time, they'll just clash! That's terrible."

Curious, Germany stood next to Italy, holding the paintings side by side. Well, there certainly was a difference in moods, right there, but they had a strange way of…complementing each other. "Is it?"

Italy hummed again as he tilted his head, which resulted in him practically resting his head on Germany's shoulder, but Germany ignored that and Italy didn't notice. "I guess not…" He ghosted a hand over the painting, careful to not actually touch the paint, uncharacteristically serious for a moment. "Prussia has a similar painting?"

Germany nodded, he was pretty sure he did, anyways. It wasn't necessarily hanging on his bedroom wall but it was somewhere.

"Well!" Italy looked up at him, that smile on his face. "If it means that much, then you can keep it here, but…" he leaned into Germany as he looked up at him earnestly, "No more feeling like this, okay?"

Germany allowed another small smile. "I haven't felt like that for a long time."

Italy giggled and pecked Germany on the lips. "Well, we can't hang these up right next to each other. It'll still look funny. Maybe keep this one here," he returned the painting he was holding back to the wall, "And that one," he grabbed the one he had painted from Germany's hands, stood in the middle of the room, and looked at every single wall, assessing where it would look best. Italy tilted his head in thought. "Well, since the other one is above the bookcase, you must see it quite often, huh? So…This one…" He beamed and looked over at Germany. "The wall across the bed! That way you can see it every day and you'll never forget! Ve, that's a good idea, right?"

It was unnerving. Could he really wake up and go to sleep every day, facing the beautiful illustration worth a thousand words of adoration and devotion? Then again, it wasn't too different than prior and current arrangements, at the rate that Italy snuck into his bed and/or greeted him in the morning.

"Sure. Let me hang it up." Taking the canvas from Italy, Germany stood there for an awkward moment before asking, "D-Do you want to cook, or w-would you rather go out?"

"Let's go out!" Italy decided, grinning widely. "We can go watch another movie, yeah?"

Germany kept in a sigh and mentally crossed his fingers, hoping beyond hope that Italy had a different genre in mind this time, and said, "Why not?"

Italy swiftly pecked Germany on the cheek before saying, "Okay!" and running out of the room. Germany almost asked where he was going, but figured it didn't really matter and went to perfectly hang the painting. He found out a few minutes later, anyways, just as he was stepping away from the newly hanging frame.

"Germany~! Prussia keeps his painting on his wall, too!" There was a disgruntled noise and Germany couldn't help but quickly run to Prussia's room to check if Italy was all right. When he looked into the room, Italy was trying his best not to trip over the mess all over Prussia's floor (which was quite the effort for him) before making it to the door. "You don't clean in here, Germany?"

Germany looked inside, and before looking at the mess, looked at the painting hanging, almost unnoticeable, on the far wall and smiled. Then he saw the mess and had to violently squish the urge to clean Prussia's room. He closed the door behind Italy, before explaining. "It's his mess. It doesn't matter if I clean it, it'll return to its natural state of disorganization within the following twenty-four hours," he said seriously.

Italy let out a small, quiet, "Oh," before smiling again and lacing their hands together. "Are you ready to go?"

Germany nodded and, after grabbing a jacket and his effects and locking the door, they made off to the theater. It wasn't really a chick-flick this time, but the movie was pretty heavily romance-based and still had more appeal to the female population, and they had definitely gotten a strange look from the kid manning the ticket booth (Germany would swear that it was the same exact kid), but it wasn't…as bad as the other one, if he had to admit it. And if Italy liked this sort of movies, how could he say no?

When they returned to Germany's house it was still empty – Prussia was probably staying over at Austria's – and, as Germany expected, there was a very hasty message left on the answering machine telling him just that.

"Italy, do you wa–" he paused mid-question, noticing that Italy had disappeared somewhere into the house. Germany made his way to his room, knowing Italy would be there, and was only mildly surprised to see Italy, already stripped and under the covers, fast asleep.

Germany allowed himself a small smile and a shake of the head as he picked up Italy's scattered clothes and neatly piled them onto the table just in front of the small bookshelf. As he got ready himself, he stared intently at the painting Prussia had given him, in its spot above the bookshelf. It had been a while since he had taken time to actually look at the artwork (he had done that enough when the paint was still fresh and new) but he could still remember the exact feelings surrounding the painting that had encompassed him for decades. Done changing and unwilling to bring back painful memories, he slid into the bed next to Italy, who immediately snuggled up to him.

Germany didn't hold back this time and responded by wrapping his arms around the sleeping nation. The last thing he saw as he fell asleep was the faint image of Italy's painting in the dark, its myriad of happy words washing away the desolate words filling Prussia's.