Germany didn't always know how to ask for what he wanted. He was used to shutting up and making do, because that's what soldiers did. They toughed things out. Wants weren't important, and sometimes even needs were optional.

But sometimes… Sometimes wants could seem more powerful than needs.

He told himself that he didn't need to feel her fingers winding through his. He told himself that the sound of her laughter wasn't addictive, that the world didn't seem a little less bright once it stopped. He told himself that his dreams were delusions, no matter how beautiful they seemed. They couldn't become true. How could he ever ask her to fall in love with him? He could never do that, be so selfish as to ask her to love him.

Every time Germany closed his eyes, he saw two things. Her—she was always there, the angel on his shoulder, the light at the corner of his eye—and them. They were the innocents he'd killed. They were the lives he'd snapped to pieces, the human beings he'd destroyed.

He couldn't ask her to hold hands stained with blood. He couldn't listen to sweet whispers of love through ears that had heard the screams of the dying. He couldn't ask her to kiss lips that had given orders that meant the termination of thousands upon thousands of people with families, loves, lives. He couldn't ask her to fill with her love a soul that had for so long been too cold to feel at all.

But he wanted to, all the same.

When Italy's hand touched his he jerked back like he'd been scalded. "Germany?" she asked, brow furrowing. She was swinging her legs off the edge of the dock to splash her toes through the Mediterranean Sea. He was visiting her home, and it was just as beautiful as she was. Well, close to, at least. The last vestiges of red-orange sunlight danced across the breakers and highlighted her copper hair in a gilded glow. "Why won't you ever touch me anymore? Before the war you didn't pull away when I held your hand or hugged you, but now you do…"

Because it scares me. It scared him how much he wanted it to never stop when she touched him. It scared him how her name fit into every love song he'd ever heard, and that he wanted to hold her and protect her until the sky fell down around them.

The last thing she needed was him. The very last thing. It was so selfish of him to even be her friend, much less to want to be her lover.

"I don't know," he said evasively.

She frowned. "I miss it."

Me too. "I'm sorry."

She exhaled, pouting a little. Obviously he had not offered the reply she'd wanted. "You know, Germany, if you want something from me, all you have to do is ask."

Everything. He wanted every little bit of her. But that was the one thing that he could never ask.

"I'm fine, Italy. I don't need anything." He'd been saying that so much that the lie rolled of his tongue easily now.

"You seem sad," she whispered. "Like you're hurting all the time…"

"Maybe sometimes," he admitted, watering down the truth for her. "But I'm allowing myself to be hurt to keep someone special to me from getting hurt."

She frowned. "If you are special to that person too, they wouldn't want you to get hurt for them, Germany."

"It's necessary," he said shortly, hoping his tone would end the conversation.

Biting her lip, she gazed out at the ocean. To his surprise, her eyes grew teary.

"Italy?" he asked, panicking at the sight of the tears brimming over. "What's the matter? Don't cry."

She sniffled, and her tears grew to gasping sobs. "I-it's me, isn't it, G-Germany? T-the person you're g-getting hurt t-to protect?"

"I…" He stared at her as she drew her knees up to her chest and cried into them. Tentatively, he reached for her. "Italy, please…"

"No!" she wailed, flinching from his touch. "Germany, you're so… Ugh! Why do you think you have to be strong for everybody?"

Stung by her recoil, he didn't respond.

"I can be tough too," she cried. "I can be strong so you don't have to take care of me! Why do you think you have to do everything alone?"

"Because that way, I'm the only one who has to worry about pain…" he muttered, half-hoping she wouldn't hear.

Her amber eyes widened. The moisture on her eyelashes was making them stick together in glistening spikes. "But… Why? Do you want to get hurt?"

"No. But it's better this way. If I take it, then the people I love won't have to." He looked away from her face. Selfish! Why do you want her to love you so much when you know it's only going to hurt her in the end?

He almost fell off the dock when her fingers touched his face. Although his first instinct was to lean into her touch, he managed to control himself and grab her wrist to pull her away.

Sorrow crept across her face. "Germany…"

"I'm sorry. It's better this way," he told her, hating himself for the words. Gott I love her…

"How is it better when you're getting hurt?" she asked quietly. "I can't be happy if I know you're sad."

The only thing that would make me happy would only make you sadder. I'm setting you free! Stop tempting me to put you in my chains, he moaned internally. He couldn't put her in bondage like that, making her love someone who had so much anger and hatred in his heart and a soul blackened by the blood of millions.

"All I want is for you to be happy, Italy," he told her softly. "It doesn't matter what happens to me." I have to go before this gets out of hand. Getting to his feet, he started off down the dock to seek the solitude of his hotel room.

"Germany!" Italy jumped to her feet and ran after him. "Germany, I want to ask you something!"

Unwillingly, he turned. As much as he wanted to just keep walking, just keep keeping her safe, when she called his name he would always answer. Beyond the grave he would hear that call.

She caught up to him, and her face was unusually sober. "Germany, I want to ask you for a favor."

"What is it? If I can, I'll do it." He meant it. The moon, the sun, the stars—he'd get them for her if he could and hang them around her neck. She'd still outshine them, of course, but maybe a star would be worthy for her to wear.

"I…" She bit her lip. Suddenly her words spilled out in a rush. "I want you to kiss me, Germany."

His mind went white at the edges. No! The very thing he could not give, the very thing he wanted the most to give. He wanted more than anything to taste the laughter on her lips, to bury his face in her gilded copper hair and ignore the world for as long as he wanted.

But he couldn't.

"I…" He was torn. "Italy… Don't ask that of me. Please."

"But…" She swallowed and looked down, the rejection slamming home in her amber eyes. "I understand. Sorry. It was just… Never mind."

The pain in her eyes knifed into his belly and made his heart soar at the same time. He tried to ignore both sensations. He had to hurt her to save her, and he shouldn't be happy his rejection hurt her.

"I'm sorry," he said hoarsely. "I just… I can't."

"Why?" Her voice was plaintive, the tone of a child. "If you don't care about me like that, just say so. I want to know why."

He couldn't say that. That was the ultimate lie, the denunciation of his whole world. To save her, he had to tell her that he didn't love her, but…

He couldn't. He just wasn't strong enough to save her. He wasn't strong enough to deny her when she was here in front of him, saying that she felt for him the same thing he felt for her.

"No, that's not it." Astonished amber eyes flickered to his face. "But, Italy, I can't…"

"Why not? Germany." Before he could stop her she threw her arms around his neck so her face was close to his. "Germany, I love you. Do you love me too?"

Not strong enough. This battle had been lost long before it began. "Yes," he whispered.

She cocked her head to the side, confused. "Then why can't you kiss me? I want you to kiss me."

"I have to save you," he told her urgently. "You can't love me. I've killed so many people, Italy. You deserve better than a killer."

His words had the opposite effect of what he'd intended. His eyes flew wide when he felt the caress of her lips across his.

Here was the point of no return. There was no controlling his reaction to her kiss, and no way he could deny it to her later. How could he turn her away when in response to her kiss, his arms went around her and he kissed her back?

Their kiss was slow and soft and melting, and it filled Germany to his core. Every part of him, even the darkest recesses of his heart, had thrown open their windows to let in her light. Every sensation, every movement of her lips on his was the answer to the prayers he hadn't dared to pray for fear they would damn him.

After a moment, or maybe several sunlit years, she pulled back and smiled at him. "That's not who you are, Germany. You may have done some bad things in the past, but you're here now. With me. You have a long time to make up for the bad things, you know."

"I…" She fit so perfectly in his arms. He hugged her close, humbled by her faith in him. "I love you, Italy."

She kissed his jaw, sending shockwaves of pleasure through him. "I love you too."

The words he'd never meant to say spilled out of his mouth. "Can I…can I kiss you again?"

She pulled back and grinned widely at him. "Of course. Remember, I just told you that all you have to do is ask!"

When his lips hesitantly found hers, he surrendered. He'd meant to win the battle against his emotions, meant to lose the desire of his heart to keep it safe. But he'd never been so happy to lose, because she was a prize well worth winning.

AN: I always thought Germany must be very sorry for what he did in WWII... I've always been under the impression that most Nazis were either misinformed, deluded by Hitler twisting national pride into something sick, or being afraid. And so Germany's guilt bled over into his relationship with Italy, which she was not happy about. But it was all okay in the end, right? Please review and tell me if you liked it!