A/N: Ack—for whatever reason, the website keeps sending me an error message whenever I try to update half my fics. 'The Devil's Joke' is still a little out of whack, so I sincerely apologize for the delay. But in the meantime...

Title: In the Shadow of Albion

Rating: T to M —though it should be important to note that if I do *coughprobablyeventuallycough* up the ante, I'll put a big flashing light over the chapter(s) in question.

Pairing(s): I'm leaving this open with a 'multiple pairings' sign, but I guess it also has an odd element of England/Italy that should be pointed out. The usual suspects are also present: Germany/Italy, US/UK, Spain/South Italy...

Warnings: dark!England, romance, violence, a smidgen of language, innuendos, and smex (though I don't know what to level of detail just yet)

Fun Facts: I'll try to explain everything along the way through the characters themselves, but if I sneak any jokes into the mix I'll point them out at the bottom of the page.

Translations: Again, any of the garble I insult your senses with will be translated at the bottom of the page.

Disclaimer: Hetalia belongs entirely to Hidekaz Himaruya.

Why? I was actually dared to try a unique pairing. Seriously. And this is what I came up with...

Summary: Meddling with the darker arts, England unwittingly unleashes a side of himself he thought was good and dead. Too bad Italy's the only one that seems to notice anything's up with the old Empire...

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Between spouts of doodling on his notes and listening to Japan lecture them on greenhouse gases, Italy noticed something rather peculiar about the nation seated across the table from himself. England wasn't exactly a "rowdy" person when left to his own devices, but when he was sitting to the just left of America (—Alfred was his colony once upon a time, wasn't he?—) and to the right of France (—Italy would never openly condemn his Big Brother, but even he had a limit to amount of groping he was willing to put up with from the man—) there was usually no saying how long it would take before the Brit found himself at his wit's end. Especially after America had managed to spill his fries all over England's work, and France was not-so-subtly feeling him up under the guise of trying to "help" the western nation clean up the mess. Even Italy could tell it was a recipe for disaster—in fact, he was honestly contemplating whether or not he should take this opportunity to duck beneath the table before England lost his composure altogether and hurled his tea cup at one of the two offenders...

Germany must have seen him flinch (and really, Italy suspected Ludwig must have had developed some sort of sixth sense concerning his habits by now), because the man grabbed him by his collar before he could drop out of sight and murmured that he should "pay attention" to Japan if he didn't want them to skip over the lunch break today.

Italy was rather partial to his pasta, so he relaxed into the man's grip and contented himself with watching England scribble the odd note down between sips of tea. From all outward appearances, Italy could easily imagine that England was miles away right now, far from his ex-colony and long-time enemy. It was a nice thought, really, because how often did any of them get a chance to escape one another? Don't get him wrong—Italy was fond of his friends, but he lived with the constant fear of someone (anyone, really, if you included Lichtenstein) invading him when he least expected it. Never mind that it was the 21st century—Italy lived in the Mediterranean, after all. He got an eye-full of violence from across the proverbial pond all the time...

He glanced sideways at Romano—who was busy arguing under his breath with Spain—and then at Ludwig—who was busy actually paying attention—before deciding that this is what was probably meant when people said they were stuck between "a rock and a hard place". Italy would agree that the ordeal wasn't very funny. His chances of escape were nil at this point.

He sighed as quietly as he could without setting off Ludwig's internal alarm, and then slumped down in his seat. He had hidden a box of pasta under his chair before they began today (there was never any way of telling when he would get hungry) but Germany had removed it sometime over the course of the morning without him noticing. Or maybe Romano ate it, he wasn't quite sure.

All he did know was that he was pasta-less and starving. What a miserable situation to find oneself in...

As fate would have it, his eyes wandered back to England—who, he realized, happened to be looking at him. Normally, it wouldn't have been a particularly remarkable thing (after all, people stared at each other all the time, there was really no avoiding it) except that England was smirking (just a little) and there was an unmistakable glint in his eyes (which wasn't "just a little"), which Italy recognized from years of running, hiding, and inevitably being caught by whoever wanted to conquer him at the time. Italy would describe it as yet another miserable situation, second only to being pasta-less, and that he would have given anything at that moment just to—

"Five minutes," Ludwig growled, haven taken Italy by the arm and before he could slip under the table. The man's timing was uncanny. "Five minutes, Italy, and then you can eat. Try to sit still until then, would you?"

"Sì..." he mumbled quietly. Part of him wanted to alert Germany to what he had just seen, but

he doubted the man would believe him anyway. Italy was infamous for scaring himself silly on a regular basis... Maybe he was just scaring himself silly, he could never tell. Or maybe—

Maybe he wasn't over-exaggerating, because a second glance at England revealed that the man was still, in fact, staring at him, with his elbows propped up on the armrests of his chair and his fingers steepled condescendingly in front of him. The impression the posture gave him reminded Italy too much of the way Spain sauntered when the man had come to visit him between bouts of conquering the new world, or the way Prussia smiled when he openly boasted the many vital regions he had captured in his prime—or Germany, even, when the man had marched to hell and back again on nothing more than the whim of a deranged leader...

It was a look Italy hadn't seen in a long time.

He would be lying if he said part of him hadn't been hoping that he'd never have to see it again...

"Oi," Romano muttered. A quick jab of his elbow into Feliciano's ribs drew his attention away from the former Empire, realizing that he had managed to zone out on his brother's question. "I said, how much longer?"

"Uh...five minutes," he replied.

He could already tell they were going to be the longest five minutes of his life...

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A/N: Like it? hate it? Aren't quite sure what just happened there? Drop me a note if you're in the mood. I appreciate the feedback.

Also, the other chapters won't be as short as this one. I just wanted to start with a teaser.

Translations:

"Sì..." ~ "Yes", but I'm pretty sure you already knew that.

Fun Facts:

1) "Italy lived in the Mediterranean, after all. He got an eye-full of violence from across the proverbial pond all the time..." ~This fic doesn't take place in any particular time, but I image Feliciano and Romano aren't exactly ignorant to all the hell that's been breaking out on the African continent. My prayers are with all the people living there right now...

2) "The impression the posture gave him reminded Italy too much of the way Spain sauntered when the man had come to visit him between bouts of conquering the new world, or the way Prussia smiled when he openly boasted the many vital regions he had captured in his prime—or Germany, even, when the man had marched to hell and back again on nothing more than the whim of a deranged leader..." ~I don't think there's too much here that you're not already familiar with. Spain, quite literally, sailed the globe, which is why Spanish is such a widespread language (although, Spain's pride undoubtedly took a blow when England defeated his Armada back in 1588). Prussia is...well, he's 'Prussia' and he picked fights like nobody's business. His victim of choice? That would probably be Austria (Prussia really had it out for that guy). And as for Germany, well...Hitler's little tyrannical reign is something I'm sure we'll never forget. I think Ludwig was probably driven half mad by the guy because the little nutter really tore his country a new one... *heavy sigh*