Several months later

Autumn. The season where the colour orange seamed to take over everything. The leaves on the trees would transform, exploding in a display of fiery colours, reds, yellows and orange invading the landscape and making the world magical, if only for a second. The warm summer days morph into brisk, chilly evenings that nip at you until you are forced to head inside to the warm, orange fire. The days grow shorter, the night closing in on you earlier and earlier every day that passes. Soon the night would take over completely, casting its spell over the world before they had even finished the day's work. But for now they could enjoy the in between, the time when you could be coming out from your place and look over the horizon to see the sun setting, flaring in a blaze of orange and yellow and as the bright orb sinks into the earth.

But the change happens gradually, so you didn't even realise it. It would slowly shift from summer to autumn as the months passed and before you know it the leaves were falling from the trees again. It was like this for Italy. The initial pain and terror that the memory had brought had become reasonably bearable as the months had passed – although he would still break down into raging sobs and tears occasionally – and eventually had become numbly buried under his life as it was now. He just wanted to forget. He didn't want to have to ever think about it again. But he still had to remember. After all, look at the catastrophe it had caused when he had forced himself to forget the last time.

XoXoX

Berlin was a pleasant city. It was a little chilly, Italy had to admit, but the atmosphere was nice. The orange greenery was scattered everywhere, giving the city a lovely feel to it. The people were great as well, very welcoming and friendly to an obvious tourist like himself. It was with their help – and the help of his dictionary – that he managed to find the small cafe he and Germany had arranged to meet at. They sat inside it now, staring silently out the window at the German people passing by. But Italy had his eyes on only one German.

"Three months...?" Germany muttered the words to himself, staring out the window thoughtfully with his rested in his hand. Italy couldn't help but smile. He looked so handsome with that thoughtful look on his face.

"Huh?" Italy asked vaguely, absentmindedly wondering what Germany was thinking about. The blonde turned towards him, blue eyes shining brightly. A small smile tugged at his lips.

"I was just thinking... You know it's only been three months since our last meeting? It feels like years after everything that happened." His voice was distant, detached, even though he was staring straight at Italy. The Italian blushed a little under his firm gaze.

"Yeah, that's true." Italy paused and lay a hand on Germany's, squeezing it as he spoke. "But I couldn't have done it without you... Thank you, for being there. It meant everything to me." Germany's eyes widened and he turned his head away. The rosy red tint that entered his cheeks made Italy smile widely.

It felt so good to finally say those words. He had been meaning to say them for so long, to show Germany how he truly felt, how much he appreciated the blonde always being there to protect him, to comfort and hold him when he needed it most. How much he loved him for not making his worst fears come true. He had been meaning to say those words for so long but now he had finally managed to, the words didn't seam like enough. He had so many more feelings, feelings that made his heart feel like it would burst, but he just couldn't put them into words.

"You know I could never leave your side, no matter what happens." Italy's cheeks burned bright red. His heart fluttered in his chest and his words stuttered as tried to form words in reply. But before he could speak, Germany leant forward and gently, chastely, kissed Italy's lips. They felt warm and soft against his own and Italy quickly melted into it.

Italy and Germany had kissed little over the passed few weeks but when they had they had been sweet, blissful treasures. The problem was, whenever anyone touched Italy in... that way all the awful memories overloaded his mind. But Germany had been patient, thank heaven, only kissing him every so often and never letting them get too intense. It was yet another Italy would be eternally grateful for.

But lately, Italy had found to, while he was kissing Germany, make his mind turn completely blank, forcing all thoughts out and letting the pure smell and feeling of Germany's lips against his own fill him up. It worked, up to a point.

The sound of the café door opening shattered their perfect moment. Germany quickly pulled away, glancing around him to see if anyone was looking. Italy giggled. Germany was so cute when he acted shy like this.

The waiter came over and took their order; two coffees, a frankfurter with potato salad and tomato soup ("Ve? They don't serve pasta?") He barely looked at them and, when he had to speak, his voice was monotonous and bored. Obviously costumer service wasn't on the man's top priority. But he swiftly left and they were alone once again.

"I missed you," Italy muttered, never taking his eyes off the blonde. Germany averted his own, concentrating on drinking his coffee, but his small smile and pink cheeks told Italy he appreciated it.

"We were only apart for a week, Italy," Germany answered, critically.

"Ve~ That doesn't mean I can't miss you." Germany looked up over his coffee, his shining blue eyes locking with Italy's. They stared at each other, wanting the moment to last for ever. The feeling of perfect understanding and harmony washed over Italy, filling him up until he was ready to burst. But it all shattered instantly as someone coughed from beside them.

Germany tore his eyes away first, much to Italy's disappointment. He looked to the man who had interrupted them, a slightly annoyed look on his face. But as his eyes landed on the man his expression quickly morphed, anger and hatred leaking into his face. His eyes narrowed dangerously.

Italy dared a peak to the person, not really wanting to see what made Germany so angry, but he immediately understood as his eyes lay on the blonde Frenchman standing beside them. Italy froze, suddenly caught in the terror that took hold of him. He tried to ignore the sound of his rapidly beating heart pounding in his ears, tried to gain control of himself, but the fear running through was too much. Even after all these months, he still had the desperate urge to bolt from the café as fast as he possibly could. But he stayed seated, gripping onto the table in an effort to keep himself where he was.

France was wearing a hat, something that was rarely seen on him, one that made him look like a spy from an American movie. But the rest of him was still his self, the ostentatious outfit, the silky blonde hair. It sent a shiver down Italy's spine. His face was sombre though, utterly serious. His eyes were dull, the usual sparkle within them having been dimmed until it was barely visible. He stared straight at Italy.

He didn't know why, but as soon as Italy saw France's cold eyes the fear that had gripped him so strongly not minutes ago melted away. It didn't vanish completely, his heart still pounded out of control in his poor chest, but it died down enough for him to be able move from his frozen position.

"Italy," France greeted, the flat voice not sounding right coming from France's lips. He didn't look at Germany. He didn't even acknowledge him.

"What do you want?" Germany spat, everything about him giving off a threatening aura. France didn't seam deterred in the slightest. He simply turned to Germany, slowly, his face a mask of pure boredom.

"Don't worry Allemagne, I am not here to hurt anyone." France said, although he didn't sound like he was trying to comfort Germany at all.

"You're hurting people just by standing here." There was a moment of tense silence at the table. The sound of other people's voices in the café floated over as mumbling background noise. France just stared at Germany, the surprise on his face clearly evident. But why was he surprised. Surely he must have expected Germany's anger after everything that had happened. Why wouldn't he?

The silence was broken as France let out a long, frustrated sigh. He turned back to Italy, the bored look returning to his face, and spoke the next words directly to him, as though Germany hadn't even said anything. Italy furrowed his eyebrows at France's rudeness.

"I have come here to say one thing to you and then I will take my leave. I did not come here to fight." France glanced over to Germany with narrowed eyes. Italy nodded shakily, willing himself to hear what France had to say. The Frenchman smiled, a small thankful smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He took his hat off, holding it against his chest, before he spoke. When he did, his voice was small, pitiful. He sounded as though he had suffered through years of torture.

"Thank you, for hearing me out. I know you probably don't want to talk to me right now but...I just wanted to say...it's just..." France trailed off, his mouth hanging open silently. He seamed to be having a hard time saying what he wanted. He drew in a deep breath, as if to steady himself. "I-I...I wanted to apologise." His eyes locked with Italy's. His expression was completely serious. "I'm sorry, for what I did. It wasn't right...forgive me, mon ami."

France silenced himself, sensing from the tense atmosphere that he should keep his apology as short as possible. He lowered his eyes, and his head, so that Italy could longer see the dull emotions within them. But the ginger didn't need to look into his eyes to see the shame written on his face. It made the knot twist itself tighter in Italy's stomach.

France's desperate words rang in Italy's ears. Italy couldn't think. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't understand. France had just apologised to him, for everything he had done. He was asking for his forgiveness. I had never occurred to Italy that France might apologise. But...why now? Why after everything? Italy didn't want an apology. Unless France had the ability to turn back time, he didn't want anything from him. How could he think that Italy would just say Yeah, it's alright. You tried to rape me, but I don't mind after everything that had happened? And what if it he didn't mean it? What if it was just for show? Their revenge on France didn't need a sincere apology. All he had to was say the words 'I'm sorry' and people would believe he deserved their friendship again. It would all have been for nothing.

Italy gulped and clutched at Germany's hand. He felt the blonde's strong fingers wrap around his own. Italy opened his mouth to answer but only silence came out, the lump in his throat blocking his voice. He quickly lowered his eyes to his and Germany's linked hands. It gave him confidence. As long as he had Germany everything would be fine. He took a deep breath, readying himself, and squeezed his eyes shut.

"I-I...I don't think I c-could ever f-forgive you."

As the words flowed from Italy's mouth, he felt more and more certain about them. He felt as though wings had sprouted from his back and lifted him until he was light as air. The relief he felt just to say those words, to make them real, was incredible, more than he would have ever thought. And he didn't feel bad for saying them; that was what surprised him the most. He thought for sure that he would feel guilty, the idea of never forgiving someone for something had never seamed possible to him before. But now...

Italy looked up, nervous that nothing was being said. France wasn't looking at Italy; he was staring out the window behind them. He didn't look surprised, Italy thought he would have been, but instead he simply looked sad, disappointment pooling in his eyes. A small smile was on his face, one that Italy could not describe nor explain why it was there. It simply was. But as France's eyes landed on Italy once again it vanished.

"Very well," he muttered, the disappointment clear in his voice. He placed his hat on his head again and, for the first since the Frenchman entered the cafe, Italy noticed how much his hat concealed his face. "Adieu, l'Italie."

And with that, France turned and left the cafe.

As Italy watched the Frenchman go, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity. The man had no one, not a friend in the world. And it was all their fault. They had forced him into isolation...but then the memories came flooding back, and the feeling was gone.

Maybe one day he would forgive France, one day years in the future, although he had the feeling he would forgive him before Germany. His friends would forgive him too, the ones he and Germany had turned against the Frenchman, probably sooner; France's actions hadn't affected them directly. All they had to do was judge, look down upon him and condemn him, rightly, on what he had done. But Italy could say with fair certainty that France would not be alone forever. It may be years, even decades, in the future but his isolation would eventually come to an end.

Italy slowly turned back to the tall, handsome, strong, kind, amazing, perfect blonde in front of him and smiled.

As long as he had Germany, he thought, knowing as he did that it was the complete truth, everything would be alright.

It's finally finished! I'm so happy! I can't believe how much support this story got it's so amazing. Thank you to everyone who read and everyone who reviewed and to everyone who supported this story. I'm really really grateful. And I'd like say thanks to My dear fangirl and Light4fire for reviewing lots. Everyone made me so happy. Thanks everyone.

Also I want to say a big big big thanks to my friend Grace. She read through every one of my chapters before I posted them up and without her I probably wouldn't have posted it up in the first place. Thank you!

Now I can focus on the other fanfic ideas I have. Bye everyone!