Casual whistling…

Oh. Hello.

I suppose you're all a mite curious as to what happened since our intrepid heroes were last seen.

Let's see… Gilbert had a successful gyro outing with Matt

Who is also gay

and evidence suggests that he is not looking for a relationship, rather a friend

Which is a scenario deduced by the lovely Hilda Fleischer, i.e Brandenburg.

Before I go on, I feel it fair to let you know that YES I am aware that Hima says Brandenburg was a brotherly figure to the German states, wasn't married to Prussia, and will be portrayed as masculine yadda yadda yadda, but there are political cartoons from the time the union was formed, illustrating the event as a WEDDING between the two countries. Yah.

So the moral is, 'stand by your headcanon.'

Anyways, let's return to our story, this segment taking place

THREE DAYS AND FOUR HOURS LATER

"Alright-y, then, Ladies and Gents, if you will kindly calm your tits and bring your attention to me where it belongs, we'll get to the best part of the night!"

Germany decided to ignore the "tits" comment and finish his Ayinger before turning his attention to U.S.A's table in the center.

Some years ago, this group had gathered and had one successful meeting in which it was decided that every other month, they would gather without their bosses to talk and debate and generally hobnob with their fellow Nation Men and Women. There would be a lottery at the end of these meetings to see who would host the next, and that individual had the responsibility of coordinating the event.

That was the last truly successful meeting they had had, in Germany's opinion. It had been the last time they had gotten something done and it had carried through. Precious little else had occurred afterwards with similar lasting results. Rivalries and romances sometimes came from them, but those were always temporary, he had learned. But it gave them an opportunity to see everyone else without the constraints of formality traditional forums with their bosses required, and the final-evening group dinner at the end was almost always rather magnificent. Tonight's was no exception. Begrudge American food all you will, there is still nothing better or more satisfying than annihilating a platter of juicy, tender, and very saucy ribs, then finding not a napkin, but a beautifully warm washcloth to clean away the mess on your face and hands… he would never let their host know it (he'd never hear the end of it), but this "Carson's" joint might have to become a regular for him when he had to come back to the Chicago area.

Anyway. Waxing rhapsodic about meat aside, it was probably now time to decide the next host.

He turned around in his seat, away from his brother's gruesome dinosaur impersonations, to watch their host dramatically reveal a Bingo Cage. The names of all the countries, except the current host and the host before them, were painted on the little balls within. Whichever name came out was the next host. Before, they used to have a hat to pull names from, then more and more of their fellow Nations had wanted to be involved, and not even the tallest stovepipe hat could hold all the names. Then someone suggested one of these contraptions, and it was agreed that it would be considerably more practical (no one was quite willing to say straight out that it looked hella more fun than an old hat).

While Germany politely listened to their host thank everyone for their cooperation and for coming and whatnot, he heard a stifled chortle behind him. Rolling his eyes, he resolved to not give Gilbert the attention he was clearly seeking.

Then he heard it.

Now, if you ask most of the folks that make up Europe, they'll say that Germany's gotten much better since his younger days. They'll say he's not just smart anymore, he's starting to get wise. He's not any less ambitious or driven than he was in his years of terror, but where and how he's driving his ambitions these days is really quite impressive in one so relatively young. He is no longer a soldier, and his transition to civilian life has been, thus far, smooth and easy.

But there are still little things that make him monstrous, like everyone else he has 'buttons.'

Loud texting is the top offender. It is a bright red button marked "FOR LOVE OF GOD DO NOT TOUCH."

And Gilbert was pushing it. Hell, Gilbert had drumsticks and was tapping out a sassy jazz beat on that particular button.

Germany decided he was going to give Gilbert one minute and one minute only to cease and desist abusing this particular pet peeve before Germany made up his mind to drink the remainder of his brother's bottle and then proceed to cup him throughout the entirety of the next week, and…

There was a sudden flinch of red next to U.S.A. Upon taking a better look, he saw it was Canada, the one who brought Gilbert syrup once. To this day, he still had no clue as to what the context of that random act of kindness was, but ever since, he had been forbidden to stumble over his name on pain of Gilbird Duty.

Canada had just received a text, it seemed, and grinned upon reading it. He immediately looked over at Germany's table, an expression of mock-disgruntlement over obvious amusement. Germany, taken aback, began to mouth an apology, but then heard a familiar hissy giggle behind him and realized that Canada's gaze was not directed at him, anyway. Rather, the Northern Giant was looking at something over his shoulder…

Although he no longer had any doubts at this point, he watched Canada text something of his own, and then heard the buzz on his own table next to Gilbert.

Huh.

Apparently Gilbert and Canada were friends now.

When the flying fuck had that happened?

He watched, perplexed, as the exchange continued between the two, and then quickly awakened from his stupor as the beat began. It was an unspoken rule that the moment the cage began turning, all present would beat out the bassline from Gustav Holst's "Mars" from the planets, quickening the tempo as the moment drew nearer to the 'moment of truth' when the next host would be named, and at the host's signal, complete silence, which U.S.A indicated with a sweeping arm motion.

There was a moment he giggled, before singing in a falsetto "Don't bring me down, Bruce!"

There was wild applause as Australia stood to get his hug and free pint from U.S.A. They had adopted the habit of using their civilian aliases in these public gatherings, and Australia's got him the most crap, a close runner-up being U.S.A—"Alfalfa," "Alfredo," "Alfie," "Freddy," "Big Al," etc. But ever since "Finding Nemo," Australia's name jokes rate had soared through the roof.

At the end of the night, Gilbert was making Germany listen to the sound clips from the song U.S.A had been quoting, and a Monty Python sketch about drunk Australians singing about dead philosophers and booze.

"You've deciphered that smartphone at last," Germany noted. "Good on you."

"Wha- Oh, God no," Gilbert protested, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "It's all Greek to me, still. Nah, Canada was just really cool and sent me these, and I couldn't listen to them in the bar."

"Canada?"

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "West, I thought I trained you so well. Okay. So we've got this little America-sandwich, right? U.S.A's the meaty-mustardy bits in between, and there are two slices of bread, the top with the sesame seeds being…"

"Gilbert, I know Canada, just…"

Gilbert shot up in his seat. "Hold on, my pants are going off." (It was an old joke between them, referencing to when they got their first mobile phones with vibrate function. Gilbert had briefly thought there was an electric charge in his underwear before realizing it was his phone.)

And as Gilbert texted away happily, occasionally bursting with laughter and reading off what Canada had texted him.

Germany was sure Canada was very witty, don't misunderstand, but how on earth did he reach the point when he went bestowing his apparently golden wit upon Gilbert?

ONE WEEK LATER

Germany pushed the door open with his shoulder, his hands being full of briefcase, a jug of milk, and the bag of groceries. He'd had to endure approximately 14 meetings (5 of which were rather trivial matters… well, maybe didn't seem so at the time but when you're old as he is, you have a different idea of what constitutes as trivial), sent off 94 e-mails that were probably going to make someone important feel a touch foolish, endured 73 business-related calls which really could have waited REALLY they could, and then had to exercise all his remaining patience to not physically harm the alarmingly ignorant girl at the register when he bought his groceries.

So he was in a rather delicate state, as you can see. Simply exhausted. Very fragile, liable to shock. And shocked he was when down the steps sauntered his brother, speaking excited, rapid English to the computer. It also was probably not for the best that this was the day that Gilbert had gone a little mad after deciding to clean up the sauce from lunch that had spilled on the floor and in a fit of OCD and boredom decided to go hog-wild and clean the whole damn surface.

So it really wasn't that funny or unexpected when Germany shrieked, slipped, and landed square on his rear.

Still dazed, Germany could only stare with wide eyes as his brother nearly doubled over laughing and turned the computer screen to him, making some comment about Pratfall Hour In The Beilschmidt Household and then something about pastry chefs, and Germany could see Canada's face, fighting a smile, waving, saying a tinny "Guten Abend."

Germany managed a responding wave and some other polite greeting, affecting a sheepish smile that he hoped would cover his confusion. Just when did his brother, his surprisingly Luddite brother whose brief fling with blogging quickly ended after closing his own blog in favor of using Facebook, which ended when he failed to update his status for eight months, who still preferred corded phones and record players, and (for God's sake) mistook the remote for a mobile phone find the courage and patience to use Skype?

As Germany put things away, Gilbert held up the screen to the cabinets, to the food, to the collection of Strange and Unusual Mugs and Steins, showed off the beer, periodically going to Germany for input and questions about the camera or microphone.

Once he had contented himself with the kitchen and moved off to another part of the house to babble about, Germany let his smile drop and his brow furrow as he thought—Since when did Gilbert Skype anyone, let alone Canada?

TWO WEEKS AFTER THAT

Ludwig issued three harsh knocks to Gilbert's door. He heard a groan and some muffled apology before the door opened.

"Ludo, this had better be pretty fucking important because there is a sword to steal, a highly temperamental Halfling waiting, and some ogres to annoy."

Germany blinked. "Halfling?"

"It's like a hobbit, but no exactly. Now hurry it up, he gets cranky."

"Is it safe to assume that this… not-hobbit is Canada?"

"Well, his username is 'Levi of Ursalia,' but…"

Germany cut him off. "Gilbert, you're making an effort to use your smartphone. You're accepting Skype. Now you're online gaming."

Gilbert raised an eyebrow. "Splendid observations. Can I go now?"

"No. Gilbert, that smartphone was a gift from Erszebet, and you whined about 'denouncing witchcraft.' Francois and Antonio have offered countless times to teach you how to use Skype and you've complained about 'face to face ought to be person to person.' And when you found out that Roderich plays online, you gave him grief for 'living in a fantasy world.' And you have been magically relieved of your former intolerance, and it's because of Canada."

Gilbert bristled. "You say it like it's a bad thing."

Germany didn't have violent outbursts very often, not anymore, but once in a while, something would snap and he would say something a touch regrettable.

"Maybe it is!" He retorted. "Maybe it's upsetting and confusing that you're suddenly letting a near-stranger have such an influence in your life when your friends whom you've known forever have been trying to reach out to you. For God's sake, Gilbert, I've been trying to reach out to you!"

He should have stopped there, really he should have. Had he stopped there, Gilbert might have seen the heart of the matter much sooner. But Germany just had to keep talking, his voice rising with frustration and confusion. "Maybe, Gilbert, it's stupid to act like a schoolboy trying to impress his crush at your age!"

Gilbert was silent at that, wet his lips, and made to close the door, but Germany stopped him. "Gilbert. Gilbert. It was a figure of speech…"

"Let it go, West."

"I just…"

And then Germany got it. Germany has a rare gift (some would call it a deficiency, so rare it was), a gift for understanding things almost immediately after they should have been quite obvious, like having to hear the thunder to realize that lightning flashed. He's had several glorious incidents like this in the past— agreeing to be hospitalized after the pain of his last migraine caused him to vomit every meal and power snack he'd consumed that day, realizing that he was not well only after his former ally, Venecziano, explicitly detailed Gilbert's death should he ever set foot in Italy again after the Marzabatto massacre in World War II, conceding that he was just a little bit of an opera fan after reserving Bayreuth tickets 15 years in advance… you get the idea. He would have little epiphanies much later than necessary, and he had one at that moment.

"Oh. Oh no, Gilbert. You do have a cr—"

Gilbert only reddened and grumbled, but he had a small smile.

"Gilbert, you're not going to… do anything about it, are you?"

Gilbert's smile faded, and he looked at his brother. "Why shouldn't I?"

Germany grasped his shoulders. "Listen to me: he's still a Nation, and a young one at that. You're…"

"Are you saying I'm not good enough for him?"

"No! No, Gilbert, I'm just…"

"Because it sure as hell sounds like that's what you're trying to say here!"

"I'm saying that you have to be realistic, that you can't just…"

"Just because I'm not one of you anymore doesn't make me less, Ludwig!" Gilbert shoved his brother's hands away. "God, it's not a doomed romance! I like him, we're friends, and maybe I'll ask him out, and you cannot tell me what it is I can or cannot do because of what I am now!"

He began to close the door again, but Germany stopped him. "Liar."

"Excuse me?"

"You wouldn't maybe ask him out."

Gilbert glowered at him before trying to close the door again, but Germany's hand caught the frame. "I just… Gilbert, you don't know him."

"I don't know him as well as you know Feliciano?" Gilbert replied coldly. "Oh, beg pardon. I suppose I should wait a few decades for him to rip my heart out then return the favor and hope and pray we get back to a shadow of what we were, all the while repressing and denying my own feelings and urges."

Germany flinched at that. Gilbert held his stare until the doorframe was released.

Germany slumped against the shut door, listening until he finally felt the urge to move.

Gilbert didn't join him for supper that evening, or coffee. He came down late, though, when Germany was sitting on the couch with the paper with his drink. Gilbert quietly sat down with him with a beer of his own.

"Hey," said Germany quietly. "I'm… an ass."

"Yep," was the answer. "That's how I know we're related."

He grinned at that. "Look, I just… I ought to…"

"Use your words, kid."

"Heh. Okay. I just… am worried that you're letting someone you haven't been friends with for very long have such an influence on you. And a little hurt. I've been trying to help you with all these advances, you know I have, because what if that helps me… not lose you?"

Gilbert was quiet at that. "Ludo."

"Hm?"

"If a smartphone is the death of me, you have my permission to laugh hysterically at my funeral."

Germany laughed at that. "Or Roombas. Roombas could do you in."

"Holy shit, death by Roomba! I'd be so cool at the pearly gates! 'Heya St. Peter!' 'Heya Herr Beilschmidt, what are you here for?' 'Death by Roomba.' 'Holy hell! Let's get you some beer!' I'd be the coolest kid on the block."

"Holy God…"

"Yeah! God'd be impressed, too! We'd go for drinks and shit…"

And that's how disputes are settled in the Beilschmidt household. For really and truly. There will first be beer consumed, plenty of it. Someone will acknowledge their transgression, then beer is had and Gilbert will make his brother laugh.

Then the other party acknowledges their own transgression.

"Ludo?"

"Hmm?"

"I am acting rather green. And let me tell you, it feels marvelous."

A grin spread across his face and he settled back into the couch, nursing his beer. Germany looked over at him, still a touch skeptically. Gilbert turned back to face him, voice and expression firm.

"But Ludo. I do believe I was right in my summarization of your and Feli's relationship. I forgot to mention that the pair of you have come along nicely, but there's still too much left unsaid.

"You're still in love with him, aren't you?"

Sheepishly, Germany turned his face away. Gilbert persisted. "Why don't you just go ahead? What's there to lose?"

"Gilbert, you've got nothing to lose," he said quietly. "You've got a lifetime, now. A lifetime to do whatever the hell you want."

He turned to Gilbert again. "I envy you. We all envy you, in a way. You're the closest to human out of any of us. I have so much time, too much time. If I screw up with Feli one more time, I'll have to deal with that for so long. I can't afford to screw it up again, it's happened more than enough. I reached the breaking point long ago. One more screw-up, Gilbert. That's all it takes for me to lose him forever. It's better we're friends. It really is. I just have to…"

"'Learn better?'" Gilbert supplied sardonically. His tone softened. "I've told you. Nobody 'learns better.' Not anybody. As you can see," he smiled, "even I don't. And I'm supposed to be a good influence."

He stood, taking his empty glass. "Well. I'll be turning in. And, so you'll sleep easier, I don't plan on asking Canada out any time soon. He's just looking for a friend, and I'm happy with that. Oh, and before I go, fancy becoming a betting man?"

Germany looked up curiously. Gilbert began to walk backwards to the kitchen. "You're so convinced Feli doesn't care? You find out. If you're right, and it's not what he wants nor is he interested in you, I keep mum about my 'crush' on Canada, and everyone carries on as they have. However, should he be interested and love conquers all, you let me have my happiness, stand aside and let me ask Canada out. Deal?"

Germany paused, staring at his brother. Gilbert was smiling mischievously, but his eyes were steely. "What if I refuse?"

"Then I reserve the right to put charcoal in my toothpaste and go about in public with black teeth."

Germany laughed. If Gilbert was going to be ridiculous, he could play along. All he had to do was ask Feli for coffee during a time he knew he'd be busy. "Fine, fine. For your honor, I'll do it."

His brother grinned. "You've got three months. And I need to ask him about the encounter and get a story that matches up suitably with yours. You know what an honest kid he is."

He sauntered out, leaving is brother befuddled in his wake, calling over his shoulder "Sweet dreams. And don't be a chicken shit."

For those of you who are wondering, this is the song that Alfred sings when he calls Bruce's name

watch?v=8mOFay9Rhac

Anddddddd….. OH! Here's the song that Matt sent Gil:

watch?v=m_WRFJwGsbY