A/N: There's not much humor in the chapter, I apologize. Prussia and Romano provide some comic relief, but it's mostly tying up the romance and other loose ends in the plot. Sorry!

5/5: The End of It

Germany felt achy and hot and feverish. He felt sunlight streaking across the room, bathing his face in gentle warm. Then he felt something different: a soft brush of heat across his forehead, a dash of wetness and a plethora of warmth.

Someone had placed a warm towel over his forehead.

He cracked open his eyes and saw a blurry shape looming over him, but it wasn't intimidating, wasn't frightening in the least. It was a comfort, lending him strength. He tried to form words, but everything came out in a soft moan.

"Oh! Ludwig! I'm sorry for waking you. I'm so clumsy. Go back to sleep, Ludwig." Italy's voice reached his ears, and if Germany had been a poetic man, he might have said it sounded like music. Instead he simply broke into a grin and opened his eyes wider.

Italy had a smile on his face, fondness and worry shining in his large eyes. Germany tried to move, tried to shift his arm. Italy's hand settled on his forearm, gently coaxing him back to rest.

"Don't try to get up yet, Ludwig. Ve~ you're really burning…"

Germany wanted to laugh. He wanted to giggle and snicker like a madman because goddamn, he was burning up and the migraine was going to split his head in two, and he still hadn't felt this good in decades. But he was Germany, and Germany didn't go around giggling like a fool. So he tried to stomp it down with a burst of mean spiritedness.

"Shouldn't you be…doing important things?"

Italy never missed a beat: "Ve~ But you ARE important things, Ludwig!" He laughed and giggled and practically glowed with good will, and for once, Germany let himself join in. Because Germany may not be allowed to act the fool, but nobody said that Ludwig couldn't. So he summoned all his strength, and pushed up onto his forearms, and when Italy protested and fussed and pushed him back, he pulled Italy down with him, and kissed him on the cheek. It was the most innocent thing he could've done; they'd done this so many times before, but this time it felt different, and it felt good.

"Thank you, Italy. I'm sorry. For yesterday. And the day before that. I'm sorry for all the days. I—"

"It's okay, Ludwig. I'll always forgive you." And Germany knew then that Italy meant it. He really, really meant it. "And afterwards, when you're better, we can go play football in the park and eat gelato!"

"I'd like that," Germany replied. And he meant it. He really, really did.

XXX-XXX-XXX-XXX

A few more hours of recovering in bed, and Germany felt like a new man. The only reminder of his night-long ordeal was a light bruise on his right wrist, a ghost of a handprint that he knew would vanish within the day. There were so many unanswered questions, but Germany had learned that sometimes, he shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, no matter how curious he was, and this was definitely one of those times.

Italy was in the kitchen whipping up a storm for their lunch, so Germany took the opportunity to head to his office. He looked upon the piles and piles of unfinished paperwork with disinterest, and navigated his way through them to his phone. He dialed.

"Moshi moshi."

"Hello, Japan."

"Germany-san. What a pleasant surprise. I did not expect to hear from you again so soon. How are you today?"

"Good, Japan. Just…really good." Germany wondered if Japan could hear his smile through the phone, and figured that the observant nation probably could.

"It is good to hear you speak with such easy contentment, Germany-san. I am glad whatever problems you had when last we spoke seem to now be resolved."

"Yes, Japan, they have. Listen, I'm sorry about yesterday. I was rude to you."

"Consider it forgotten, Germany-san. I bear you no ill will for it."

"Thank you, Japan. I wanted to let you know that…my schedule's cleared up. And, well, if you'll still have me, I'd, uh, love to be there for Hungary's birthday."

Japan paused only a moment in surprise, before his voice returned, tinged with a new happiness. "Of course we will have you, Germany-san. You are always welcome."

"Thanks Japan."

"Of course. Was there anything else you wished to discuss?"

Germany twirled the phone cord around in nervousness. The vision in China's apartment was forefront in his mind. He took a deep breath, and jumped in: "Yes, Japan. There was something else…. When was the last time you talked to China? Or any of your siblings? Outside of a formal setting."

There was silence on the other end. When Japan spoke again, it was in a tone of perfect neutrality, just the faintest hint of weary strain underneath. "Admittedly it has been a long time. But Germany-san, you need not concern yourself with my relationship with my siblings. Things have always been…complicated…between us."

"Things were complicated between me and Prussia for a long time too."

"I appreciate your concern, I really do, but—it's not the same."

"I know. But how long do you intend to keep pushing them away?"

If Japan thought Germany sounded all kinds of hypocrite, he politely kept it to himself. "I do not have an answer to that, Germany-san."

"Then why don't you start trying to change things now? It doesn't have to be hard, just start small. Invite China and the others to Hungary's party tomorrow. They might surprise you."

Again Japan was silent for a long time. Germany waited with newfound patience, until finally he heard a small sigh on the other end and knew that Japan had relented. "Very well. I will take your advice. Thank you."

"Of course." Germany buzzed with a tingling sort of happiness. They made small talk for a bit longer, before bidding their goodbyes, till tomorrow.

As he hung up the receiver, Germany eyed the delicate blue vase Italy had placed on his desk, France's pink and red blooms like blush against the cool crystal. Germany picked up the largest, most passionate red rose from the vase, and twisted off the long, thorned stem.

Just then, Italy poked his head into the study. "Lunch is ready, Ludwig! Unless—" There was uncertainly in his eyes; he bit his lip and ventured, "Unless you're busy. I understand, I can leave if—"

"No, Italy. I'm not busy at all. And lunch sounds really good right about now."

When Italy's face broke into a thousand-watt smile, Germany thought that for the rest of his life, he'd say and do anything to see that smile over and over again.

Just before he got up to follow Italy, a thought crossed his mind and he cracked open his laptop to send an email to his boss. It was short, formal but polite, and in it, he asked to schedule a meeting to discuss reconsidering denying the stimulus packages to their fellow EU nations.

When he reached the dining room, he found Prussia already there, digging boorishly into the pasta. He had no idea how Prussia knew that there would be food that day; his brother must've had the nose of a hungry bloodhound. And if Prussia really had been in Germany's bedroom last night, he didn't let on. The bruise on Germany's wrist was barely visible now.

The German brothers exchanged quick greetings, before Prussia returned to licking the last of the sauce off his plate and demanding a second helping. Italy enthusiastically complied.

"Y'know, Feli, this is amazing. You're an amazing cook. You're an amazing everything. I bet you've got mad skills in places other than the kitchen, if you catch my drift." Prussia waggled his eyebrows suggestively at Italy.

While in his dream, Germany had wanted madly to crush Prussia's face into cement, now he felt nothing but a fond irritation for his brother. He cuffed Prussia affectionately on the back of his head.

"Back off, Gilbert. Feliciano's taken; he's off the market." He'd called him Feliciano. The name tasted new and exotic on his tongue, and so, so heart-achingly right.

Prussia was about to protest that he could seduce Italy away from any dumbass, when the look on his brother's face stopped him in his tracks. Because Germany never wore that look. He looked doting and dreamy and totally, utterly, helplessly smitten. It was disgusting. It was so fucking sweet all his front teeth were already jumping ship. And then Prussia realized that some of that fondness was directed at him too, and the rest of his teeth hightailed it out of there.

And maybe he was just a little touched too, but torture and wild horses wouldn't drag that out of him.

Meanwhile, Italy just looked baffled. Then he saw Prussia looking between him and Germany with a grudgingly charitable smirk on his face, and a light bulb went off in his brain. For a moment he was frozen in place with shock, and then he smiled so wide that Prussia could practically see the glow of pure, unadulterated happiness cascading through him in waves, and Germany—Germany thought he looked like the sun.

As they ate in companionable silence, Germany twirled the red rose in his hands nervously. Then he took another leap of faith. He threaded it through Italy's soft brown strands—tucked it above his ears—and it wasn't the flower, but the smile that suddenly made Italy even more radiant than sunlight.

After lunch, Germany forced his mind to turn from this new, tentative happiness to more practical matters at hand. Prussia scooted back in his chair, stretching like a cat and declaring that he was going to leave the 'lovebirds' alone, and go find Spain and France to raise some hell. Germany grabbed his brother's sleeve. When he looked into those crimson eyes, he felt like Holy Rome for the very first time.

"It's been a while since we've seen Austria and Hungary."

"Yeah, so?"

"We should go—"

"Who the fuck needs them. I don't fucking need them. I'm perfectly happy! Yeah!"

Germany almost cracked a smile at how well his imagination had conjured up Prussia's idiosyncrasies. "Well then humor me, Gilbert. I haven't seen them for a while, and…things are…still a little awkward between us. It would help a lot if you were there. You know, to ease the tension."

Prussia's narrowed eyes sliced through him with ease. The proud warrior in him lived on, and he could see through all of Germany's tricks. But instead of looking pissed off at Germany's poor shot at manipulation, Prussia suddenly seemed filled with pride, as if he'd been waiting for this day to happen, for his little brother to finally grow up and show some guile.

"Fine, West. And I'll even hold your hand too, ya big fucking wuss." Prussia punched his shoulder. "That lame ass party, I suppose? Tomorrow? Fine, I guess I could clear a window for you. Y'know, only cause I'm awesome, and you're my baby brother and all that shit." Then he blew them both a raspberry that completely belied his age, and ran off laughing like hell.

On the tails of that dramatic exit, the phone in Germany's study suddenly ringed, and he apologetically excused himself while Italy nodded his okay and bounced into the kitchen to finish washing the dishes.

"Allo. Deutschland."

It was his boss's secretary, and they conversed smoothly in German:

"Good afternoon, Mr. Germany. The Chancellor would like to know if you'd be free tomorrow at 10am for that meeting you wanted to schedule."

"That'll work fine. Also, Ms. Tohler, I'd like to discuss opening new links of trade with the Balkan nations, possibly increasing imports at a greater ratio than exports."

Germany could hear the secretary's fingers flying over her keyboard. "Anything else, Mr. Germany?"

"One last thing. I'd like to send a diplomatic overture to Sealand. It used to be territory of England, but they've since renounced control and recognized Sealand's sovereignty. I think it would only be right for Germany, as a leader in the EU, to follow suit."

He heard the sound of the kitchen sink turning off. "Thank you, Ms. Tohler, that'll be all. Good day."

Just as he was about to leave his office, he spied England's half-eaten casserole still lying morbidly on his shelf. A vision of America with nervous fingers outstretched flashed through his mind. The look in America's eyes had said that his actions had been about more than just that one fumbling attempt; they'd been doing that dance almost as long as Germany and Italy had.

At just the right moment, Italy bounced giddily into his office.

"Hey Feliciano, you know that casserole from England?" Italy nodded, not sure where Germany was going with this. "Could you toss it with pasta and wine tomorrow morning? Make it look more…edible?"

"Of course, Ludwig, anything for you! But I really don't think you should eat it anymore, after you got that fever and everything."

"Oh don't worry, it's not for me." Germany grinned enigmatically and was tempted to give Italy a conspiratorial wink. "Give me a second here, I'll only be a moment, okay?" Italy nodded happily, skipping over to the couch next to Germany's desk, and lounged as he waited.

Germany multitasked dialing and writing:

"Good afternoon again, Ms. Tohler, I apologize, but I suddenly remembered something. Could you please prepare some thank you gifts for me? Prepare a hand mirror for Mr. France and a get-well-soon care package to Mr. England. Oh, and attach a note to both for me too: 'I do appreciate it, more than you think. I'll be there.' Have them ready for me to pick up after my meeting with the Chancellor; I'll deliver it to them myself at tomorrow's gathering. Thank you, Ms. Tohler. Good day."

And the short note was finished too:

America:

Thanks for the gift. Don't take offense at my returning it; it'll have a better home with you anyway. Italy cooked pasta as a peace offering.

Best regards,
Germany.

PS: Up for drinks if you are. No almost about it, I can drink you under the table any day.

He strolled over to the couch, and picked up the abandoned American flag, playfully rolling a giggling Italy on to the floor. America would never be able to resist opening a present. Germany slung the flag over one arm and grabbed the casserole with the other. He hummed a cheerful little tune under his breath as he brought the items into the kitchen, Italy following right beside him.

Yup, he thought merrily to himself, everything would work out just fine after all.

Then Italy twined their arms together, clinging gently to Germany and looking up at him with such adoring eyes that Germany's breath caught, and he wondered if maybe things would work out better than just fine.

"Are you free now, Ludwig? Do you want to go to the park with me? You're still a bit sick, so we don't have to play football. Maybe we could just walk around, there's this pretty lake there, and when the sun sets, and—oh, what am I saying, it's right next to your house, of course you know there's a lake there. And well, I'd really like to spend some time with you, and did you really mean what you said back there? About me? Cause I'd totally understand if you didn't, but it just made me so happy and—"

Germany tilted his head and kissed the side of Italy's mouth with a confidence he never thought he had. "Of course I meant it. Now let's go." Yeah, he'd do anything alright, to keep seeing that smile.

XXX-XXX-XXX-XXX

It was in the park that they shared their first real kiss, and somehow it didn't feel at all like the first time. Germany wondered if it should feel so natural, as if he'd kissed those lips a thousand times before.

He wondered if it should feel so much like coming home.

The rest of the day was whittled away without a care in the world. They talked and teased and flirted as if all the words were already there, had just been buried and been bursting to come out. They probably had been. Dinner was a quiet affair spent on the patio of a small restaurant overlooking the Spree River. The sun was just setting when they started to head home, and the comfortable silent they'd fallen into was broken by the ringtone of Italy's cell phone.

"Pronto!"

A string of ugly sounding Italian assaulted Germany's ears from the other end of the call. If anyone could make such a melodic language sound so foul, it was sure to be Romano. Italy looked apologetically at Germany as he weathered his brother's assault. After 10 minutes of cursing and making threats, Romano had finally run out of steam, or he'd choked on the rabid foam coming out of his mouth, Germany didn't know which. Romano had never once asked to speak to him, and when Germany looked down on his wrist, there wasn't even the shadow of a mark left now.

Italy abashedly flipped his cell phone shut.

"Is he being an ass to you again?"

"No, it's okay, he's right. I didn't tell him I wouldn't be home for dinner. Romano worries a lot."

"Yeah, he does," Germany agreed without hesitation, but Italy still seemed a bit deflated.

Germany wondered how far he was willing to go to defend the older Italian brother. Then he saw Italy's smile in his mind's eye again, and all the way was the only answer. "He worries cause he loves you. Um. A lot."

"I know." Italy was smiling, and it was beautiful, but it wasn't blinding.

"No, I mean, more than you know. He's always doing stuff to protect you and make you happy, and he's sentimental too, when he thinks you aren't looking. Um. For example. Sometimes, when you hug him, he'll kiss the top of your head. Did you know that?" Italy didn't.

Ah, now it was blinding. He needed sunglasses if he was going to survive to winter.

XXX-XXX-XXX-XXX

When they returned home, Prussia was tactfully nowhere in sight and Germany realized to his growing nervousness that the night was still young.

Italy gazed up at him, biting his bottom lip. He looked anxious and excited and almost as nervous as Germany felt. "Do you want to take a bath, Ludwig? I think it'd be really relaxing."

Germany nodded, blushing scarlet, and followed behind Italy, who was swaying with energy and excitement. His Italy.

His Feliciano.

After centuries of tentative bargains and bloody wars, empty ambitions and emptier glory, now, they were finally here. And, if only for this one moment in time, Germany's heart was bursting and he thought every star in the sky was perfect.

/END!

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