Disclaimer: : The only thing I own is the story idea and only some of the witty remarks. I own so little; so please don't steal.

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The Pros and Cons of Hitchhiking 10

Somehow in between the time it took to get up, eat breakfast, and get to the café to start working back the tea set, France had gone, rent or bought (no on knew), and managed to avoid detection and returned with four black French maid uniforms.

Possibly, all hell broke loose.

"What were you thinking?" Romano shouted, as Feliciano happily fingered the fabric. There would be no resistance from him. "Where do they sell these sort of things anyway?"

France stroked his chin, the epitome of excellence. "I have my sources, my dear."

"I want one!" Feliciano announced, holding up a complete set and rushing off to the bathroom to change before anyone could take it from him. France nodded satisfactedly, as if his apprentice had done well.

"So! Anyone else willing to take them!" France tossed his head about. "Obviously I would volunteer but I thought I might share the privilege with others. Because I'm such a nice man."

They were splayed on the café tables, the CLOSED sign still hanging over the door but Denmark still managed to slip in. Finland was smiling genteelly as if he was a doting parent.

"I think the waiters should take them," he said, sealing three yet-unnamed victims' dooms. "After all, it would be hasslesome to cook with them."

"I nominate Nor!" Denmark shouted. Norway had seemingly forgotten his new name until France shoved an outfit in his arms. The boy struggled, refusing and rejecting the idea despite Denmark's pleas and obvious empty promises. Iceland, however, stared at the dress, thinking to himself.

"Sort of like a manga café," he murmured to himself, before lifting up a dress and studying it. "I'll take one, I guess."

"Ice!"

Iceland shrugged at Norway, his eyes flitting toward Denmark. "It doesn't seem too bad."

"See? Ice's a good sport. You know what? I'd actually like to see Ice in a dress! Ice, you'd look so pretty!" Denmark stepped toward Iceland, who shifted backward, clutching the dress as a shield.

Norway fumed behind him, his face starting to flush significantly. "I'll do it," he growled, staring murder at Denmark. "Because big brothers don't leave their little brothers alone to hungry wolves." Grabbing Iceland's hand, he marched to the back, where Feliciano was surely primping himself up.

"That's right," France said, turning slowly and significantly at Romano. "Big brothers don't…"

"Pull that shit on me and I'll kill you."

France rounded on Spain. "Hey, Spain, old buddy. What about you? You and Feliciano could wear matching outfits and that's sort of romantic isn't it? Yeah?"

Prussia grinned, wrapping an arm around Spain's shoulders. "That's actually a cool idea. I have a camera. We can send it back to friends at home."

"I don't think anyone at home would want to see me in a dress."

"Yeah, but it's funny, isn't it?"

"Come on! Do it!"

Spain looked skeptical, glancing at the remaining dress with its too short for comfort skirt. "I don't know…it's cute but I don't think I really want to put on a dress…"

"Come on!"

"Wait!" The word seemed to burst forth before Romano could rein the impulse in again. "I'll wear it, okay?" France's evil glint looked too perfect for coincidence. Snatching the black nightmare from his arms, Romano made his way to the back, his face almost rivaling Norway's.

"That was the best ploy you pulled ever!" Prussia whispered excitedly to France, who only looked mildly self satisfied.

"You definitely owe Romano one for saving your last shreds of dignity, Spain," France mocked.

Germany tried to melt into the wall and become a light fixture, but realized regretfully he had yet to achieve this goal. Meanwhile, France had seemingly whipped three waiter outfits out of thin air (much more modest than the sexy waitress ones). Denmark was more than slightly riled up.

"You know," he said as he watched the deboggle from a booth, "if I didn't have to worry about the onslaught of visitors at the hotel, I'd be here helping you all out." No one mentioned the fact he was still there, but that was the least of anyone's thoughts when Feliciano waltzed (generously used in this sense) out into the area, dragging Romano with him.

Feliciano was obviously a dress person. The fluffs fluffed where they should, the puffs puffed appropriately, the black flattered his figure – suggestive like a wink but wholesome like a high collar. Ribbons and lace decorated everything else; a silk garter winked out from the folds of the skirt and he had on fishnets and platform heels.

More or less, he was well learned in the art of role-play.

"That's not makeup, is it?" France asked amusedly and Feliciano looked up coyly, the glitter hanging off his lashes. The other three didn't have such good control over their speechlessness as Feliciano twirled, still holding onto his brother's hand.

"But Romano looks cute too! I mean, duh, we look the same!" For Romano, his glare downplayed most of the sexiness factor but the dress worked just like it did for Feliciano. Pulling his hand from his brother's grasp, he crossed his arms and spread the glare across the room, daring anyone to say anything. Prussia pushed his luck with a wolf whistle.

Romano opened his mouth to let loose the chain of curses he had already planned up but he saw the way Spain was looking at him, with wide eyes badly hiding something dark flitting across the green. Poprocks giggled in his stomach and he shut his mouth.

"Nor~!" Denmark called loudly. "Ice~! Come out!"

There was muffled sputterings of indignation before Iceland slowly peeked his head out, wobbling out on unsteady feet in heels. His stark white blonde hair contrasted nicely with the dark hairpiece, full of frills and unnecessary ribbons. Norway stormed out, quickly stepping in front of his brother.

"Frilly!" Denmark shouted, his eyes lighting up at the sight of Norway dressed up in black lace and silk. The latter pouted, although this effect was less homicidal in the outfit.

"I don't know how you convinced me to do this," he grounded out, glaring murderously at France, who grinned and shrugged.

There was a tsk-ing from the general direction of the kitchen and they all turned to see Finland, shaking his head with a shadow of a grin on his face. "Young ones," he said, as if that explained the whole strange deboggle.

"Let's change!" France shouted, pulling up the waiter outfits and starting to disrobe then and there.

While Spain and Prussia were politely shown the dressing room by Iceland, France was aptly kicked in that direction by Romano, who had started frothing about inappropriateness and the Heavenly Father and pervertedness.

"I think they're fun," Feliciano giggled, twirling around so the black lace spun alluringly in the light.

"I'm glad someone enjoys cross-dressing," Romano grumbled.

When the café finally opened around noon, the influx of tourists was made even more obviously so; there was more people in the little building than before and not even Romano had time to gripe about his outfit. Of course, France made it difficult; reaching for a skirt's backside as a way of nipping heels. This brashness prompted several visitors to attempt the same, although they were properly discharged by either Romano or Norway.

Iceland stood at the counter, looking the poster boy of Lolita as he leaned wordlessly, flipping through a newspaper left behind by a satisfied patron (if one couldn't get enough of the lavishly dressed wait(resses), the trio were charming as waiters – the epitome of perfect gentlemen.

There came a lull in the activity, after which a boy ran in to greet Finland with a "Mom, I got you something!" (a story about this boy, Peter, being taken in by Finland the last time he was separated by his parents, a long story). Spain was sitting in a booth in the back, flanked by Prussia who was making quite creepy faces at Romano. Francis was trying to make Iceland show some sort agitation, but the silent boy nimbly deflected every single grope with a well-timed dodge.

"Having fun, Germany?" Germany, who had been spending the whole time not watching in a corner, looked up from a crossword puzzle he had nicked (boredom levels had sadly reached the level of crossword puzzle, but not quite to Sudoku). Feliciano bounced over to him, the black skirt rising dangerously and Germany tried not to look.

"It's…interesting." To say the least.

"Ooh! It's too bad Francis wasn't able to get you an outfit too…it would be nice to have you with us." Germany wasn't very certain, but he was fairly confident that Feliciano was inching toward him. Clearing his throat, he attempted to inconspicuously turn away from the boy – but that further proved his suspicion. Feliciano noticeably shifted at him.

"Um…what would you like." If he had more effort in something other than avoiding this boy, who he still didn't know very well, he might have formed that sentence into a question.

"Oh? Aren't we friends? I'm just talking to you!" Talking involved space…space! Feliciano rested a hand on his arm, with a look of utter rapt. Or adoration. Whichever it was, it was unsettling and Germany wondered if it would be right to actually stand up and move.

Ah~ if Germany wasn't an ideal man, Feliciano didn't know who was. Maybe he wasn't a tall, dark stranger, but he was tall. And mysterious. Not to mention he had saved him. He felt his heart beat in his throat; he dared inch closer.

Romano was getting ready to storm across the room and pull Feliciano off Germany; somehow, that damned blonde was making his brother climb on him. What sort of evil spell was this? But before he could hobble across a few inches, his sixth sense told him danger.

He stepped out of the way before Prussia's grabby hands could connect with the place where he had been only seconds before.

"What the hell?"

"Can't I just…touch you?" This didn't have to carry any sort of sexual connotation, but with Prussia and France, you could never tell. Prussia's eyes were already stuck hungrily on him and Romano tried to dodge out of their path.

"No. No can't. You can't look at me, you can't undress me with your eyes, you can't even think about me."

"Oh, but come on," Prussia urged, stepping closer. "You look so pretty…if I don't control myself, I may nosebleed."

"I hope you lose enough blood to die," Romano grumbled, wrinkling his nose.

"Oh, but just a few glorious days before, we were making out like we were the only people in the world!" Prussia let memory haze over his face before his grin came back and he advanced toward Romano. "Come on, darling. You didn't forget that, did you?"

"I just don't feel up to that in these kinds of clothes," Romano tried, scooting away and finding himself backed into a corner. He couldn't go anywhere without crashing into the wall or stepping around Prussia. Perhaps he could climb over Spain to get to the other side of the booth, but that would surely mean more embarrassment.

And Spain was staring at him so strangely he just wanted to find some pants. Or a sweater. He was wearing boxers and had nothing to compromise in the chestal area, but he may as well have been a girl. Feliciano was too busy perching himself on Germany's knee (what! How did that happen? Where was he?!), Norway was busy muttering to himself as he tended to the patrons who were purposely ignoring them, France was still trying to chat it up with Iceland…yelling help would just result in people actually looking in his direction.

He could throw the shoes, but if he looked down to take them off, Prussia would jump him.

"Stay away from me," Romano warned, wondering if he could pull the ribbon around his waist around Prussia's neck. All thoughts of making Spain jealous were forgotten; he wasn't going to compromise himself like this.

"Romano!"

Romano took another step back but a pair of hands shot out and pulled him away from Prussia's grasp. Struggling to steady himself to a standing position, the older Vargas was surprised to see Spain holding him; apparently, this was shocking to the latter as well, as Spain quickly let him go.

"What was that?" Prussia asked, mirroring Romano's confusion.

"It was…well…" For once in his chatty life, Spain was at a loss for words. "He just…he didn't want you to touch him."

"Gilbert!" Out of nowhere, France appeared to tackle Prussia out of the way but Romano was watching Spain. "Ice won't talk to me! What should I do?"

"Well, you're not as awesome as me, so…"

"It wasn't anything," Spain said quickly, when Romano was still standing next to him. "I was trying to help you…you know…because you didn't seem okay with it…I was just…being a friend…"

Romano opened his mouth to say something sarcastic, but a jumbled, "Thanks," flew out instead. Spain smiled gingerly at him before standing up and separating Prussia and France, the latter getting a bit too friendly with the albino.

The door of the café slammed open. "Wh ew! So many people! Can't a man get a decent cup of coffee around here!" Indeed, Denmark looked utterly ruffled, his hair messier than usual. He collapsed into a chair.

"Serves you right for not helping me out of this," Norway shot, slapping the wet towel he was using to clean the tables in front of Denmark.

"Aw, but you look so cute. How was business?"

"Busy. And perverted."

Iceland walked slowly from the kitchen, carrying a cup of coffee in a more careful way than he had been treating any other customer during the day. When he finally set it down, the liquid was carefully balanced and when Denmark thanked him, he pinked slightly and stood a distance away.

Denmark was just adding sugar to his coffee when he spotted Feliciano giggling in the corner, sitting on a very awkward-looking Germany's lap. "What are you guys doing?"

"Being friends!" Feliciano chirped back happily.

"Hey!" Denmark's face lit up and Norway had started shaking his head even before Denmark turned to him. "Norway, want to be friends like them?"

"No."

"Just for a minute."

"Nope."

Denmark crossed his hands, all coffee forgotten. "Come on, Nor. We're best friends, remember?"

"Actually we weren't." Norway was holding his own very nicely against Denmark, even in the dress. Romano was secretly jealous.

"Fine. Be that way. Ice!" Denmark's voice had drawled into a coercing tone. "So…I know that…we're friends…Ice…you wanna sit on big brother's lap?"

"That's hardly appropriate," Norway scoffed, crossing his arms and looking cross himself.

"Ice…come on. We're friends, aren't we?"

Iceland looked indecisive, glancing back and forth between Norway, who was determinedly not looking at him, and Denmark, who was nodding and grinning like a fool. Finland and Sweden were in the kitchen, not helping matters. For a moment, he hesitated, but the moment he made a movement forward, Norway had interrupted.

"Alright, fine! Don't bother, Ice. You don't want to touch this idiot anyway." Bursting forward, Norway clamored clumsily onto Denmark, almost too rushing in his movements. Iceland watched them for a beat before turning and heading for the kitchen.

"This is…nice," Denmark chuckled, nearly suffocated by the frill and the fact that Norway had accidentally kneed him in the chest. Still, the end result of a stubborn young man in his lap and arms was enough for him to pretend nothing had happened.

"I hate you," Norway muttered, as Denmark tangled his arms in the outfit's many yards of ribbon. At this point, Feliciano had attempted to make Germany put his arms around him, much to Romano's chagrin. The elder Vargas quickly pulled his twin off, elbowing Germany in the face, much on purpose.

Iceland emerged again with Finland, who was drying his hands. The man took a look around the room: eyes scooting over two struggling twins, one blonde holding his face, two grown men bickering about themselves on the ground, a Spaniard actually attending to a rather depressed looking visitor, and finally to Denmark and Norway, in a mess of black and lace and ribbons.

"This is a business," Finland reminded, and if this wasn't a threat enough, Sweden appeared behind him with a dark look and a thick pot in hand. In the same fashion as teens caught in bed, each individual detached themselves except for Spain, who had started amiably chatting with the man who looked like only wanted coffee and was staring enviously at the cup that Denmark had forgotten.

"You know, I've got this really cool shirt that says 'Shut Up' on it, I think it would look really good on ya!"

--

Somehow, the nightlife at Nordics became much better at the arrival of the tourists, for there was suddenly a huge festival near the lake. Feliciano had skipped off (Romano made him take the dress off first) with Germany, accompanied by France and Spain. Romano had wanted no part of the whole frivolous event and had planned to stay at the café to salvage his manhood, but Prussia had lurked around. Thankfully, Denmark had distracted him by talking about some "awesome" activities at the festival and the two had gone off deep in conversation.

Sweden and Finland had taken the night off at Peter's instance and Norway had followed them to keep an eye on Denmark. Romano found himself (with the cursed dress off, thankfully) in the café with Iceland.

That was awkward.

He felt slightly bad, watching Iceland sort out the chairs and tables alone, so he shifted and reached to straighten a couple cushions. This continued in silence for a while.

"So…how…are things usually around here?" He was not a smalltalk kind of guy. That was Feliciano. Still, he felt it was only right to try and seem friendly to someone who didn't look particularly thrilled at their presence.

"Quieter."

Ice was not giving him much to work on. He really was about to give up and storm off to find Feliciano (after all, now he had to watch his little brother like he was only five, what with that bad influence Germany around) when Iceland spoke up again.

"So…how are things with Spain?"

The matter of the question and the fact that Iceland had been listening and watching threw Romano off a bit. Of course, the question returned and he fumbled with the chair he had been pushing in. Even without the maid costume, Iceland looked devious. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Iceland stared at him blankly. "Remy told me he overheard you freaks talking about you liking Spain or whoever. Or was it Prussia…? Whatever."

Overlooking the way Iceland had used 'freaks', Romano decided to set the record straight. "It's none of your business. You think you're an exception? What about you and that ugly, annoying guy, Denmark? You think you weren't obvious at all?"

Iceland stared at him, chair in hand as if he were about to swing it over his head as a weapon. There was another pause (uncannily common in this conversation) before Iceland surveyed Romano with approval. "You're not bad."

"You're not too bad yourself."

"It doesn't matter," Iceland said, straightening the last chair and dusting off his hands. "He likes my brother, and even if my brother won't admit it, he likes that…guy. It wouldn't be right to try and take what's not mine, even if he was interested."

"You're not just going to give up?" It seemed a ridiculous thing to do, especially with someone like Iceland. That boy could hold a grudge, he figured. Iceland shrugged.

"There's no use chasing after something that's not going to happen."

--

Surprisingly, Norway realized, that when he came to keep an eye on Denmark and the new annoyances, Denmark had preferred to stick with him. Still, he kept the ragtag group in sights, making sure the clumsy twin didn't knock anything over or the crazy trio didn't make a fuss. It was a bit difficult, as Denmark was trying to distract him.

"Hey, look! You wanna get something to eat?"

"Hmm…whatever."

So in a matter of seconds, he was pulled away and before he could complain, Denmark had pressed some fried squid in his hand. "Here! My treat!"

"I was going to have you pay anyway."

He had lost his view of the troublemakers. He supposed it was only fair to try and enjoy himself now. "You know, it's going to get colder from now."

"Enlighten me, idiot." Denmark laughed, as if he hadn't been insulted.

"The lake'll freeze over you know! Hey, let's go ice skating again! We haven't gone in ages; you never want to go with me anymore."

"I don't want to nearly have a heart attack again when you fall through the ice again."

"That was once. And I wasn't going to die!" Denmark looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. "Oh, Nor, were you really that worried about me?"

"No, not at all." The squid was chewy. He'd focus on that instead than talking. Still, Denmark wrapped an arm around him; Norway's insides squirmed but he willed them to be still.

"It was really a good thing you went and got Sweden you know. Even if I don't like him very much. I really couldn't get out of that hole by myself, really. To be honest, I only pretended I could so you wouldn't try and come closer. If you'd fallen in, I wouldn't be able to face myself."

"I'm a much better swimmer than you," Norway insisted, sticking the skewer stick in his mouth.

"Yeah, maybe, but…" Denmark squeezed him closer. "I don't want you to get hurt. You're my best friend and your big brother, so I've got to try and keep you safe. I really care about you, you know." There was a pause as Denmark bit the last of the squid in his mouth.

"…you're annoying, you know that?" Denmark glanced over at him. Norway was slightly flushed, but he couldn't really tell with the festival lights around them. "Maybe I will go ice skating with you this year."

"Really?! Yay~!"

--

Prussia was snoring loudly. Germany was not, laying still like he had been trained to be statue-esque in sleep. Normally, Spain would also been in dreamland as well, but he lay awake, staring into the darkness.

It was Romano. He'd known it was Romano, because Feliciano would not have protested in giving Prussia a great big hug. It was Romano who was resisting, who was refusing Prussia's advances. And knowing that, he'd gotten testy about the fact that Prussia was bothering him and even stepped in to intervene. He was a nice guy, so he would do that sort of thing; but he'd gotten angry and…jealous, even, although he didn't know what of.

He liked Feliciano, but he'd gotten upset seeing Prussia with Romano. This wasn't a new fact; he'd felt the same time when he walked in on the two at Germany's flat, and again in Canada's dorm.

And anyway, Prussia had already laid claims on him. And best friends didn't get in the way of such things. It really was a conundrum.

It'll all be better in the morning! Sometimes you have to sleep on it! And with that in mind, Spain turned over and aimed for sleep.

To be continued

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Note: I think this exchange sums up what happened:

Jim: Because of budget cuts, we decided to give the raises to the marketing department.

Phyllis: What a dumb idea! He just wants to give the raises to his friends and people he sleeps with!

Jim: Hey. Whoa.

Basically, that's what happened to me. I acknowledge it was rather mean of me to update this story with a fake chapter when I haven't updated in ages, so I apologize for that. Obviously I have never butted heads with fanfiction readers; you guys are much more vicious than I gave you credit for initially. You don't mess with readers. I also broke site rules as well, apparently: orz.

But I have several things to say as well. First, I have a confession. I had formerly dumped this story. We parted ways and were actually saying hello in the hallways and being cordial for a couple of ex's. Metaphor: I have lost inspiration for this fic. I feel like I owe you an explanation for not updating until now.

Second: Please do not rat out on Plasticframed Paintings. This "boycott" was all my idea, and I take responsibility for my actions. I was completely prepared to take the flames for my rash and inappropriate audacity and I used them in a constructive ways to spook myself into thinking twice before messing with readers (and to counter the horrible weather).

Third: You should probably thank the anonymous "Angry Reader". His/her review stating his/her reason why I should update made me finally force myself to write this chapter. And I do mean force.

Thanks for hearing me out, and again, excuse me for all the grievances I caused you. - Canadino