Disclaimer: I don't own it, I just ship it

Warning: strong language, boy x boy pairings

Here's the final chapter!

oOo

Before he knew what was happening, Romano found himself next to America, in line for the large Ferris wheel. Somehow they had managed to leave Hungary in the dust. They were safe for the moment, at least. The sun was beginning to set, so all of the lights were starting to turn on throughout the park. It was like watching giant fireflies flickering to life. The line slowly drifted to the front and the Nations stepped into the brightly-lit cabin.

"It's really fun to rock these things," America informed his friend with a grin, shifting his weight back and forth inside the small compartment after they were high enough to escape the operator yelling at them.

"It's also really fun to sit your ass down before you break something," Romano replied. He was not a fan of the sound the rusty gears holding this flimsy deathwheel together were making.

"It'll be fine, I've done this a million times on other Ferris wheels!" the Superpower insisted.

"Fine, while you do that, I'll give you a detailed summary of every ghost movie I've ever seen, starting with the one you finally managed to repress from this morning…"

"Alright! Alright! I'll be good!" America quickly sat down next to the brunette. "Hey, next meeting we have in New York, we should bring everybody here!"

"You want to bring a bunch of Nations, who can't even agree on a policy for who goes first in the buffet line, to an amusement park?"

"Sure! We're having a great time, aren't we?" America grinned. "I bet the others would too!"

"Or start an international conflict…"

"C'mon, you know you want to run more than a few of them off the road on the bumper car track," the blonde smiled, knowingly. "If you can take me out, Germany doesn't even stand a chance!"

"Heh, that's true bastard, but then I'd have half a dozen other idiots gunning for me."

"They wouldn't."

"Why not?"

"Because I'd have your back."

Their conversation was cut short by a brief burst of fireworks. Dazzling reds, electric blues, and bright whites lit up the night sky. People below stopped to watch the display. The beautiful fireworks popped, whirred, and whistled just over the water. Many oohed and awed at the picture-perfect sight.

"Whoa! I didn't know they did fireworks here!" America pressed his nose to the Plexiglas. "We must have the most awesome timing ever!"

"Y-Yeah."

At some point, Romano's hand found America's, but he pretended not to notice. The blonde didn't say anything either, merely giving his hand a gentle squeeze. Both kept their eyes transfixed on the fireworks.

oOo

Somewhere far below…

"I must say, I'm impressed you thought to bring fireworks!" France complimented the long-haired brunette, as they set off more of the colorful lights.

"Oh, it's nothing, just a little gift from Taiwan…" Hungary boasted. "Every good fangirl keeps them on her person in case such a moment arises."

"The TSA must love you…" England rolled his eyes. He couldn't understand how Francis had gone from trying to get rid of Hungary, to helping her with her mad schemes.

"Oh, hush! You'll be grateful when I send you some pictures of them in the Ferris Wheel together."

"That would be wonderful, Hungary!" France clapped his hands together in approval. "Thank you!"

"How are you even going to be able to get photos if you're over here?" England asked. "You don't even know which cart they're in."

"Which is exactly why I wired cameras in every compartment~!"

"Such diligence! You really planned this all out!" Francis joined Hungary's proud laughter and lit off several more fireworks.

"You two are horrible people…" the tsundere shook his head.

oOo

Eventually, the dazzling display ended and faded into the night. The crowd of people who had gathered let out loud whoops and cheers for the show. America followed suit, he loved fireworks. The ground drifted closer and closer, until it was time to step off the Ferris wheel and back onto solid ground. This time, the Superpower didn't have to offer Romano his hand, as the Italian was already holding it.

The duo took a few steps away from the giant wheel, trying to decide where to go next. It was right around then some maniacal kid with a squirt gun raced by. America immediately shielded his shirt pocket with as much dedication as an umbrella in a rainstorm. He perceived himself as a hero protecting his treasure, random passerbyers thought he was having some kind of heart failure. Romano noticed this as the little boy ran off.

"What's in your pocket?"

"Huh?"

"It must be important if you're so desperate to protect it from crazy shit like that," South Italy gestured at the kid dissolving his brother's cotton candy with the squirt gun.

"Oh, it's, uh…nothing," America scratched his head, goofy smile on his face. "Just a good luck charm."

"Oh, really?" Romano arched an eyebrow. "I'm curious, now."

America felt a faint blush creep over his face as he took out the slip of paper with Romano's name on it. He offered it to the Nation for inspection.

"The hell is this?"

"It's the paper I won from North Italy at the poker game," the blonde smiled. "It's proof gaining it was part of my lucky day, so I've kept it as a good luck charm ever since."

"That's just stupid, hamburger bastard," the half-nation shook his head, returning it. "You can't get good luck from a piece of paper."

"It let me win you for the day, didn't it?"

"Th-That's—"

"Ahahaha! So, maybe it means that you're my good luck charm!"

"Shut up," Romano barely hid his embarrassment with a frown. "If I was good luck, we wouldn't have run into Hungary or your overly-attached parents."

"But my baseball team won, you got to see Strawberry Fields, and we both got to eat funnel cake and watch fireworks!"

"And just before that, you had to go through a horror movie followed by a haunted tour, and I got shot by Hungary and her imaginary bullets."

"But what about that awesome kiss under the Ferris Wheel?"

"What kiss?"

America grinned and swiftly planted a quick kiss on the Italian's forehead. He took a brief second to savor the moment while Romano was temporarily stunned. Even in the dim lighting, America could see the half-nation's face turn bright red.

And then he ran like hell.

"Get back here, you bastaaaaard!"

Eventually, America was run into the ground by the slightly shorter, considerably angrier Nation. South Italy was sitting on top of him, alternating between punching and threatening him in Italian again, but America had learned how to handle this.

"You don't want to beat the hell out of me," the blonde smiled innocently, bringing his arms down when the hitting suddenly stopped.

"Why the fuck not?"

"Because I got us reservations at an authentic Italian restaurant for dinner."

"If it's Italian Garden, I swear to god, I will strangle you with a spaghetti noodle…"

"It's not, it's not!" America laughed despite the situation. "It's run by the Rosso family. 3rd generation Italian-Americans, really nice people, Grandma Carlotta makes a killer cannoli!"

"Fine. I'll let you live until dinner, but I'm not making any promises for what happens to you after dessert."

oOo

America drove them into a small building with stone walls and wooden archways. The entrance was decorated with shelves of jars filled with pasta sauce and plants trailing from the ceiling woodwork. Italian paintings and prints were tastefully displayed on the walls throughout the dining area. The restaurant was casual compared to other ritzy establishments nearby, but that was so they could focus on high-quality food. Traditional Italian music softly played in the background and the smell of freshly baked bread wafted through the doorway as they walked in.

The staff warmly greeted them in Italian, which was enough to cause Romano's brain to switch over to his native tongue and politely return the greeting. Brightening quickly, the hostess began speaking to the half-nation in Italian, leaving America out in the cold. He was limited to conversational Italian at best and at a much slower pace. The blonde decided to ask South Italy to tutor him another time.

"Oi, hamburger jerk. This beautiful, young lady wants to know what name you put in for the reservation."

"Oh, uh, Rogers. Steve Rogers."

"You are such a dork," Romano rolled his eyes at the Captain America reference, but didn't turn around fast enough to cover up his grin.

"Hey, you recognized it, so I must not be the only dork here," he crossed his arms smugly.

"I-It's not like I willingly watch all those stupid superhero movies you make…" the brunette hissed at him. "They just happen to be the only movies the albino bastard brings over and I'd rather watch those than Vene and the potato bastard sucking face."

The duo was seated at a table off to the side of the restaurant, near the decorative wine rack. Their hostess quickly dragged Marco, their waiter, over to the table and introduced him. She blinked when she remembered America was still sitting there and hastily introduced her son in English, as well.

Marco took their order and left to get their drinks. As the Nations paged through the menu, a waitress popped over to their table to ask if they wanted to sample any of the wines (imported directly from Italy, of course). America was fine with his complimentary glass of water and the Italian soda Marco was bringing him, but Romano was interested in the Marsala wine.

America had hoped to ask South Italy about what he recommended as far as pasta sauces went, but never got the chance. The wine woman was still chattering away with the half-nation, even after pouring his glass of wine. America fought the urge to facepalm. Romano really was a chick magnet.

The first time he had gone here with some of his government co-workers, America thought the service was great. The staff all had a kind of warmth to them that made every customer feel like part of the family. America had gone a few other times with other people and was given the same treatment, despite not being Italian. That all changed when Romano walked through the doors. When the Rosso family found out he was also from Sicily, they didn't just welcome him to the family like other patrons, they practically adopted him.

The staff was very impressed with South Italy and wanted to equally impress him with their food. Plate upon plate of delicious antipasto ranging from bruschetta to meatballs was brought to the table. South Italy enthusiastically talked about traditional Sicilian cuisine with the waiter, hostess, and her husband (who was the head chef). Currently, they were discussing the importance of importing flour, which made all the difference in the world…or something. America couldn't really follow, but judging by the large hand gestures and looks of amazement on the chef's face, Romano was doing well. The Superpower just sat back and chewed on a piece of flatbread. It was kind of like watching a foodie family reunion…but given that the Rosso family was originally from Palermo and Romano represented that half of Italy, America supposed it kind of was.

Eventually, Nonna Carlotta came over to the table to see what the fuss was about. America perked up, nearly spilling his Italian soda. If he remembered right, she was the prickly, easily offended type. The blonde had seen her throw a wooden spoon at the head of a lazy employee with unparalleled accuracy on his second trip here. Surely, she would get the others to leave long enough for him to have a decent conversation with Romano! The little old lady strode over to the table with a deep-set frown. America silently cheered.

"Impossibile…" she gasped, stopping short when she actually saw the Italian guest. "It's you!"

The small crowd that had formed at the table turned towards the grandmother in confusion. She pressed closer and looked Romano in the eye.

"Do you remember me?" she asked, her raspy voice filled with wonder. "We met at a Sicilian plaza over 60 years ago!"

"Uh…" Romano looked uncomfortable.

Carlotta explained that she'd lived in the States for 50 years now, but she still recognized him from the Piazzo Verdi. She had been an aspiring painter and about nine years old the day she met Romano. Carlotta had been trying to paint the Teatro Massimo with the art supplies she'd received for her birthday. Romano happened to pass by and gave her some painting tips. He helped guide her unsteady hand to make the correct strokes and stayed with her for an hour until the painting was complete.

"The young man never gave me his name, but told me he was happy to help," Carlotta recalled fondly. "You said it was one of your favorite pieces to paint."

"But I…"

"That painting has since become my most prized possession," she huffed, pointing it out, proudly displayed on the restaurant wall behind the cash register.

His ravioli and cassone abandoned, America could only bite his lip to keep from bursting into laughter. Poor Romano was clearly one of the Nations who moved around a lot to avoid running into people they left an impression on a few decades back. What were the odds of running into one here? Having given up trying to come up with some excuse, South Italy could only blush with embarrassment. The hostess took that as a sign he was uncomfortable and tried to remove her kooky mother-in-law from the table.

"Perhaps, it's time we left these gentlemen to their meal?" she spoke up.

"Yeah, there's no way this guy could be the one you knew, Nonna," Marco agreed. "He's way too young."

Carlotta remained unconvinced and swatted her grandson in the back of the head. She directed everyone's attention to another painting (her second treasure) that hung opposite the large window in front – a portrait of Romano walking through the streets of Palermo, dressed as an ordinary man with translucent angel wings glowing behind him.

"I call it Angel in the Plaza, because as a child, that's what I believed you were."

Her unconvinced family members admitted there was a resemblance, but he still couldn't be the same guy. Meanwhile, America wiped away the tears that were rolling down his cheeks from suppressing so much laughter and took out his phone. He got permission to take a picture of it with Romano.

"Okay, for the next one, I want to be in the picture too," America handed his phone to Marco to take the picture. "Oh, Grandma Carlotta, you should be in it too!"

The little old lady tottered over and stood on South Italy's other side, smug look on her face. America made a surprised expression, pointing to both the half-nation and the painting. Romano suddenly wished he had more wine. Marco took the picture and the blonde promised to send Carlotta a copy of the photo. She nodded appreciatively, pulling the taller man sleeve until he leaned down to her eye level.

"You make sure you show respect, young man," she warned him, wooden spoon somehow materializing in her hand. "You are dining with an angelo and if I hear you are rude to him, there will be consequences…"

"Yes, ma'am," the blonde stood up. "I'll be real nice to the angel, here."

By now, Romano was completely red in the face with embarrassment. The family dragged Carlotta away to let the guys enjoy their meal, even offering a complimentary bottle of wine for the inconvenience. Romano happily accepted and made good use of the gift.

"Now what are you doing?" he asked after downing his current glass of wine a little faster than restaurant manners excused.

"Tweeting that photo…"

"Y-You better not be!"

"Today I ran into the Angel of the Plaza! Look familiar? #myluckyday #hescoolerinperson" America spoke and typed at the same time.

"I hate you so much…" Romano buried his face with his hands.

"So, if we go visit Palermo one of these days, will you teach me how to paint too?"

"Shut up, bastard."

"No, I'm serious," America tucked his phone away. "I've always been more of a photographer. I wouldn't know what to do with a canvas if you gave me a box of crayons and written instructions."

"I would never give you crayons to create real art with."

"So, does that mean you'll teach me?"

"No."

"Please, darlin'?" the blonde switched over to his southern accent. "Can't you make one tiny exception for me?"

"Okay, fine! Just stop talking and let me enjoy my fucking cannoli!"

"Thanks, 'Mano~!"

oOo

After an incredibly filling meal, the stuffed Nations waited around for a check that never came. America was about to wave down their waiter (or any nearby staff), but recalled from his extensive etiquette lessons from both parents over the years that doing so was rude and a sure-fire way to tick off the wait staff. He wanted to make a good impression (and God help his soul if Nonna Carlotta saw him acting out with The Angel in his presence), so he decided against it. Making their way to the front desk, they asked their cheerful hostess about the bill.

"Don't worry about it, boys!" she beamed. "It's on the house."

"Oh, you don't have to—"

"Please, I insist," she patted their cheeks affectionately. "You both made my perpetually cranky mother-in-law happier than we've seen her in years. This is the least we can do!"

The two thanked her (America ducked back to the table to leave a nice tip for the generous family) and made their way back outside. Just under the restaurant sign rested the Batmobile, streetlights glistening off her sleek surface. Both Nations took their respective seats and glanced at each other.

"See? What'd I tell ya?" the blonde grinned.

"Eh?"

"You're my good luck charm!" laughed America. "And a cheap date too!"

"Wonderful," Romano rolled his eyes, sarcasm coating his words. "I've never aspired for more…"

oOo

America was starting to feel a little sad when it was time to drive Romano back to the airport. He had even taken the long way (hoping the Italian wouldn't notice) just to get a few extra minutes with him. Street lights and brightly-lit billboards flashed past them. Slowly, the signs directed them to the JFK International Airport. America had been there so many times before, he let autopilot take over and steer them to the parking lot.

"I'm going to really miss you…" South Italy said sadly, as he stepped out of the Batmobile and ran his hand over the smooth curves of the windshield. "You were the first thing I actually liked about this McDonald's-infested country…"

"R-Really?" America asked in disbelief, carefully closing his door in attempt to catch every word.

"I was talking to the car, bastardo."

"Of course you were…" the Superpower rubbed the back of his neck. "Heh, I knew that!"

They walked into the large building together. America was happy to help him out with his luggage and showed Romano where to go. For reasons he was willing to overlook, South Italy didn't mention he already knew where to go from previous trips to New York. They found themselves facing each other in the airport terminal. People were walking in all directions around them, but neither Nation moved.

"Did you have fun?" America asked.

"It might not have been completely awful…" South Italy shifted from foot to foot slightly.

"Good! I'm glad!" The superpower beamed. "I had a great time too!"

"Really, bastard?" Romano looked up at him, hope beginning to form in his eyes. "You…you really mean it?"

"Yeah! We should definitely do this again sometime!" America hugged him. "You're an awesome person to be around, South Italy!"

"Hmph. Well, of course I am, bastard," the brunette huffed. "So…"

"So…?"

"…Same time next week?"

"It's a date!"

"It's a what?!"

"I'm just kidding…" America laughed with a wink. "…Unless you want it to be."

"Don't get cocky, bastard," Romano snorted, but leaned against the blonde to press a quick kiss to his cheek. "I'll see you next Friday."

"Seeya then!" the superpower waved enthusiastically.

"And America?"

"Yeah?"

Romano grabbed the blonde's shirt collar and kissed him full on the lips.

"You're buying."

-End-

A/N – I know I might have rushed things with the kiss, but I just didn't like ending it with only a kiss on the cheek. They had to kiss for real. My inner-fangirl was stirring. And besides, I've written plenty of other fics where they take their time to connect and get to know each other and blah, blah, blah…

I didn't get to include it in this fic, but the next time Romano visits America in New York, he'll find a large print of Carlotta's Angel in the Plaza painting in the middle of the living room. America got a huge kick out of his reaction (followed by a huge kick to the shin).

Thank you to everyone who read through all of this random short story!

-Rajikka

Translations

Fratello – Brother (It.)

Tsundere – A type of character seen in anime or manga known for appearing cold or hostile, but having a hidden sweet side. "Tsun Tsun" is the aloof or irritable side, while "Dere Dere" is the lovey dovey side. (Jp.)

Bastardo – Bastard (It.)

Antipasto – Appetizer (It.)

Impossibile – Impossible (It.)

Angelo – Angel (It.)