This is for Aestiva, who prompted: America somehow forgets how to speak English (Maybe human AU where he gets a head injury and speaks a few different languages) but doesn't know Italian. Romano has to drag him around to different countries till he gets one America can talk to (Preferably Canada or France).

Um, I ended up changing it a bit, but I think the basic premise is still the same? I hope you like it!

Foreign terms are in Italics, unless the word is being pronounced phonetically. Notes/translations are at the end!

Soundtrack: Renato Carosone, Rita Pavone, and Adriano Celentano.

It was after the meeting and Romano was looking for a back way out of the building because he was abso-fucking-lutely done with this shit for the day. Okay, so technically he and Veneziano were hosting. But apparently only his brother was really needed to represent Italy. So what was the point of hanging around? Like he wanted to be near those annoying fuckers, anyway.

Well. It wasn't Veneziano's fault he was so adorable. And he liked Belgium. Japan was okay, too. But everyone else could go fuck themselves!

His time could be far better spent in pursuit of some lunch. He was still muttering expletives and insults when he rounded a corner and spotted America at the end of the hallway. Romano froze instantly, wondering what the hell the guy was doing back here all by himself. America had a hand clapped over his mouth and his eyebrows were furrowed in either fear or concern—it was hard to tell with only the top half of his face visible.

Romano's first thought was to yell at him for being in a hallway he had no business being in, but then his self-preservation instincts kicked in to remind him that that's America, dumbass! and he remained frozen, watching silently. Luckily America seemed too preoccupied to notice him. As Romano watched, the other nation slowly lowered his hand, opened his mouth as if to say something, then quickly covered it up again.

What the hell?

Suddenly America was looking at him. Shit, had he said that out loud? His body tensed in preparation to flee, but America was just staring at him. After a few moments it occurred to him that this incessant loudmouth should have said something by now. So why hadn't he?

"Is there a problem, bastard?" he asked, cautiously.

America blinked at him, then shook his head rapidly, still not saying anything. How convincing.

Okay, so there was definitely a problem. The question was: did he want to get involved? As a general rule, getting involved in any of America's shenanigans was a bad idea; but on the other hand, if it was something he could help with then America would be indebted to him. Hm.

"As the host of this meeting, I can't just leave you alone if there's a problem," he announced. Which was bullshit and America knew it if the raised eyebrows were anything to go by; Romano was not exactly known for being a courteous host. "It would be very rude to refuse my help," he persisted. America's shoulders slumped in defeat, but he did make a disgruntled noise behind his hand. He hadn't made any threatening moves yet, so Romano plucked up his courage and took a couple steps forward. "So. Problem?"

America rocked back on his heels, hesitating. Finally he stuffed both his hands in his pockets. His mouth was pursed and he wouldn't meet Romano's eyes. Then he licked his lips, opened his mouth, and said-

Romano blinked. What had he said? "Repeat that?"

America sighed. He said something which might have been the same thing he said the first time. Romano had been expecting English so he missed half of the string of syllables. What he did catch sounded something like "o-kah-knee-ga."

"That's...not English. Is it?"

America sighed again and shook his head. He said something else in the strange language, gestured wildly with his hands, then shrugged.

Romano had no idea what to do with that. "So, what? The problem is that you've forgotten how to speak your own damn language?"

America made an X with his arms to indicate no, definitely not, looking frustrated, then paused and made an eh, kinda gesture with one hand. He was muttering in the whatever-language.

"...Right. So what can I do to help?"

America stared at him blankly.

Romano crossed his arms. "I'm not leaving you alone until I've helped, bastard."

America stuck his tongue out at him. Romano refused to let this faze him, instead giving the other nation an expectant look. America grumbled a bit, still in that strange language, then finally said, "Matoskah."

"Matoskah?" Romano repeated uncertainly. America nodded, perking up a bit when Romano got it right. "Okay. So you need a matoskah. What the hell is a matoskah?"

America threw up his hands and turned away.

"At least I'm trying," Romano defended. America turned back to him and muttered something about "oh-key-ah."

"I don't know what that meant, but it better not have been something rude because I will come over there and slap you."

America looked surprised. Probably wasn't used to being talked to like that. Well ha! Romano would give him what-for. "Okay, so matoskah. Can we get one in the meeting?"

America hesitated, then shook his head. He said something about "oh-yah-tay." Yeah whatever, Romano was just going to ignore the incomprehensible language for now.

"Okay, how about your hotel? Would you have one in your room?"

America gave him the frustrated look again. Romano recognized it as the universal why aren't you getting what I'm saying look that always resulted from two different languages trying to communicate.

"Well? Hotel or not?"

Finally America nodded.

"So which hotel are you staying in?" Dammit, this was going to be another problem, wasn't it?

America seemed to realize this too because he grimaced. He looked up at the ceiling for a moment, then back at Romano and started gesturing.

"Oh boy, charades."

America glared at him from behind upraised arms.

"Fine, fine, I'm being serious. Um, big?"

America's face scrunched up and his head jerked to the side to indicate close, keep going.

"Large? Monumental? Colossal? Oh, are you near a monument or the Coliseum?" America gave him an incredulous look. "What? I hate charades."

America changed tack. He held out one hand, palm up, and curled his fingers.

"And what in the hell is that supposed to be?"

Muttering again, America mimed picking something up and held it to his face.

"What? Was that...picking a flower?"

America nodded enthusiastically, pointing at him. Apparently he was one of those people who got really into charades. Ugh.

"So a big flower?"

America smacked his forehead.

Big flower...grande fiore. Hold up. "You're in the Grand Hotel Flora?"

Suddenly America was all smiles again. He said something along the lines of "k-sah-pah," which seemed to be a compliment. It was kind of cute, actually, seeing him all excited, and whoah okay where had that come from?

"C'mon then, bastard, we can get on the next tram."

America followed him obediently to the exit.

On the way to the Marriott, Romano had the opportunity to think about what was so strange about this situation (besides the apparent loss of all English in America's vocabulary). And that was exactly what was so weird: he had the opportunity to think because America was being quiet. When he spoke in that other language, he was speaking at a normal volume level rather than the Hero Voice. Which was odd-America rarely spoke at a volume less than a bellow. More than that, he was only speaking up in short intervals, probably because no one could understand him anyway.

He seemed pretty discouraged about it, looking out the window pensively and worrying at his bottom lip. Which was another thing: Romano had never noticed that America was so expressive. What with the big blue eyes and the facial expressions and the body language. He was very easy to read, something Romano had never associated with America before.

Romano snorted. He was definitely reading too much into this.

At the hotel, he allowed America to take the lead and followed him up to his room. He trailed behind the other nation slightly awkwardly, realizing that hey, he was in America's hotel room.

America immediately went for his laptop. Current protocol said that none of the nations were allowed to bring their laptops because they were such a distraction. For now, it seemed, the rule was being followed.

"Alright, bastard, what's a matoskah?"

America's tongue was poking out a bit as he booted up and logged on to his computer using a fingerprint scanner built into the machine (okay, that was kind of cool). He was muttering quietly to himself again. Romano wandered closer and looked over his shoulder; America didn't protest. He brought up a webcam program, Skype, and called...Canada?

After a minute, Canada picked up and a live video of him appeared on the screen.

"Alfred?"

"Matoskah!" America exclaimed happily.

Canada blinked at them for a moment before blowing out a sigh. "Not again..."

America shrugged apologetically.

"I was wondering why you didn't come back. Did you have another presentation to give today?"

No, America shook his head.

"Well, there's that, at least. Hopefully no one will bring up the fact that you're missing." Canada sighed. "Japan's presentation is terribly boring without you here next to me, though."

Grinning, America babbled something in the strange language.

Canada gave a faint smile, and then replied in the same language.

"Wait, so you're a matoskah?" Romano demanded, utterly confused now. "And how do you have a laptop if you're still in the meeting?"

Canada's smile became quite obviously forced. "No one notices if I use mine," he answered. "And Matoskah is one of my names."

"Oh." Immediately repentant, Romano murmured a sincere, "Excuse me." Using another nation's name without permission was incredibly rude. To put it lightly.

Canada gave him a stiff nod, then went back to talking to America in the other language. As their conversation showed no signs of stopping, Romano backed away and tried to find something else to focus his attention on without feeling really awkward. It didn't work.

He supposed he didn't really have a reason to complain. He took every opportunity to speak to Veneziano in Italian, even at meetings. Apparently these brothers liked to go back to their own language when they were conversing, too. But wait, what language was this exactly? Something shared by America and Canada...it had to be the language the natives were speaking in the New World way back when. Romano was rather pleased with himself for figuring it out.

He was staring out the window vacantly when suddenly America bounced into his peripheral vision (literally, he was bouncing up and down and smiling, a change from the glum version of America he'd sat next to on the tram). America gestured at the adjoining bedroom then tugged at his clothes.

"You're...going to go change?" He received an enthusiastic nod in return. "Okay, I'll just, uh, wait here." America pointed at the laptop. "And talk to Canada?"

America nodded again and skipped away, shutting the bedroom door behind him.

Hesitantly, Romano approached the laptop.

Canada smiled at him, but for some reason it wasn't a very nice smile. Was he still pissed about the name thing? It wasn't like Romano had known.

Despite his expression, Canada started out sounding good-humored. "Sorry about all this; it must be kind of confusing for you, eh?"

Romano shrugged. "It's not a problem. But I am confused about why he suddenly started speaking Native American."

There was a bit of an awkward pause as Canada stared at him. He was still smiling, but now he looked vaguely amused and slightly pained.

"Well, specifically he's speaking Lakota, which is one of the Siouan languages."

"Oh. So there's more than one native language. Of course." Well now he felt kind of stupid, and he was sure Canada was silently judging him.

"There are about three hundred different, ah, native languages north of Mexico. Lakota is one of the Siouan languages."

"Sue?"

"The Sioux tribes mainly lived where the border is between America and I today."

"Which is why you can speak Lakota, too," Romano concluded.

"That's right."

"Isn't Lakota a state in America?"

"Mm, there's North and South Dakota. Dakota is another Siouan language. Most of the remaining Lakota speakers live in the Dakotas, though."

"There are a lot left?" asked Romano, surprised. He'd assumed the two nations were speaking what was basically a dead language. He remembered having a vague idea as a kid of what Spain was doing to the indigenous people when he came home from the New World, and he could only imagine what England and France had been doing north of him.

"There's maybe six thousand speakers. Quite a large number."

Didn't seem very large to Romano, but he supposed maybe comparatively it was a big group.

"So what brought on this whole speaking in tongues thing?"

Canada shrugged. "It doesn't happen very often, but sometimes if there's upset in a specific community in his country he'll start speaking the language. Last year there was a fire in this predominantly Korean community in Minnesota, and there was a lot of trouble about how it could have been prevented if...well. It made national news, and suddenly Alfred was speaking Korean."

Romano blinked at the use of America's human name. It was probably unintentional, and it sounded fond. Well, they were brothers. He rarely called his own brother Feliciano, though.

"So something's happening with these Lakota people?"

"Ah yes, I'd heard about the Pe' Sla lands in South Dakota from America but I hadn't thought this would happen again because of it. It's barely made news." Canada looked contemplative.

"Uh...?" Romano had no idea what that meant, but before he could ask Canada cut him off (and wasn't this guy supposed to be a quiet super-polite pushover or something?).

"All you really need to do is speak English around him, and he'll revert back to normal. Maybe go somewhere there would be a lot of English speakers? He could come back here, but I don't think he wants to deal with everyone when he's like this."

"Yeah, okay, I can do that. English."

"Oh, and also?" Canada stopped smiling abruptly; Romano felt the chill in his gaze through the computer. "I don't know why you decided to help my brother, but I can guess. Maybe you're trying to get something out of him. Maybe you think he'll owe you a favor when this is over, eh? Well. I know I can't really tell you, another sovereign nation, what to do, but...if I think that you tried to exploit him or use him-if you hurt him in any way, I may become upset with you." A pause. "I don't know, am I being clear enough about this?"

Romano gaped at the screen. It was obvious Canada was not joking around. He fought off his flight instincts for the second time that day and replied with a gulp, "V-very clear. Sir."

Canada was all smiles again. "Great! Tell America I'll come find him after the meeting for me, eh? Grazie." The screen went black before Romano had the change to ask how, exactly, Canada would be able to find his brother. And damn if that grazie hadn't been ominous as fuck.

Shivering slightly, Romano stepped away from the laptop and turned around to see if America was done changing yet.

Standing in the doorway of the bedroom, America stared back at him. Romano jumped, still on edge from his "talk" with Canada. "Jesus! Don't sneak up on me like that, bastard." America didn't reply, not even in Lakota. "Um, I don't know if you heard, but Canada said to tell you he'd come find you later..."

He heard, all right, Romano realized with a jolt. The whole thing. Guilt hit him like a kick to his stomach. God only knew why; why should he feel guilty because of America, of all people? But the feeling was there, despite all logic.

America remained silent. Was he waiting for a refutation? An apology? Because neither was forthcoming. Okay, so his intentions in helping America hadn't been exactly selfless, but he had to look out for himself. It was a good opportunity. It was politics. Surely America wasn't so naive that he thought everyone existed in a constant state of sunshine-and-rainbows and fucking altruism. The world didn't work like that.

Still...

"Hey, so I'm going to take you up to Piazza di Trevi. Lots of tourists down there, so there's bound to be people speaking English. That'll probably work better than just me talking at you, right?"

America gave a half-hearted shrug.

"And we can get gelato."

That made him perk up a bit.

"C'mon, bastard. Let's go find some tourists."

The other nation graced him with a small smile.

They walked up Via della Stamperia together. America seemed too engrossed in his surroundings to remember to be upset; he craned his head to look at the people and buildings they passed as though it was the first time he'd ever been to Italy, even though he must have been dozens of times. He was smiling with the wonder of a child. It suited him far better than the fragile one on his face before.

Romano took the opportunity to look at America. He'd changed out of his suit and into casual clothing. They fit him much better, and revealed a nicer physique than Romano had expected. What really kept catching his eye, though, was America's hands. Romano couldn't recall ever seeing them without gloves on before, though surely there was some time he must have. There wasn't anything particularly special about his hands, but for some reason they just seemed like...like a part of him Romano knew existed but hadn't really given any thought to before.

Okay, what was wrong with him? They were just hands, dammit. He looked determinedly ahead, frowning.

They turned onto Via del Tritone. They managed to walk for a while with Romano stewing silently, but then America spotted a gelateria near the Fontana del Tritone and started bouncing again. "Alright, alright!"

They went down Via Vittorio Veneto, now with two cups of gelato which seemed to have completely restored America's mood if the bouncing and inane chattering (which he still couldn't understand) were anything to go by. Despite himself, Romano was amused.

Then his cell phone rang. Cursing, Romano fumbled with his cup of gelato, trying to dig his phone out of his pocket. He heard America say something that kind of sounded like "eat you." When he looked over, America was waggling his fingers in a gimme gesture, so whatever he'd said must have been some kind of offer to hold the cup for him. Mischief shone in his eyes, leaving Romano with no illusions about what would happen to his gelato if he handed it over.

"Like hell, bastard," he announced, holding the cup away, still trying to pull out his cell phone. America shrugged, expression saying your loss, I was just trying to be helpful. Yeah right.

Finally he managed to get his phone out. It was his brother calling. With a groan, he flipped it open and answered. "What?" He saw America watching him out of the corner of his eye, so he held the phone between the side of his face and his shoulder and took a large bite of his gelato. America made a face at him.

"Romano~ Where are you?"

"What's it to you?" Who did this idiot think he was, making faces at him?

"Ah, I was wondering about this presentation I'm supposed to give..."

Romano debated hanging up, but decided against it with a sigh. "What about it?"

"Well-" Feliciano started babbling about the presentation.

Seeing they had finally reached the Trevi Fountain, Romano covered the mouthpiece and told America, "Go attach yourself to some tourists who speak English. I'll be sitting over here, okay? I have to talk to my brother."

America gave him a quick salute and started maneuvering his way through the crowds, closer to the fountain. Romano found a bench and resigned himself to waiting for Veneziano to finish speaking.

It took twenty minutes of answering questions about what certain statistics meant and how to operate the projector before he got his brother to hang up and go back to the meeting. Looking around he was able to spot America right at the side of the fountain. He was crouched down and speaking to a little girl who seemed to be part of a rather large group of Chinese tourists. He and Veneziano had been getting a lot more tourists from China as of late, Romano mused. They were kind of loud, in Romano's opinion, but there were a lot of them so he wasn't about to complain (too much) about contributors to his tourism industry.

Wait.

America was talking to that little girl.

Romano groaned, letting his head fall back and thunk against the top of the bench. His brother and America both apparently needed his full time supervision.

The Chinese group moved away. As Romano watched, America waved goodbye to the little girl, then looked around. When America caught his eye he grinned and quickly came over to the bench.

"Nǐ zěnmeyàng?"

Romano glared at him. "That," he said slowly, "is not English."

America shrugged apologetically, but he was still smiling. Seemed like he was just happy he'd been able to speak to someone. For some reason, Romano couldn't quite find it in himself to be genuinely annoyed.

He glanced down at his empty gelato cup. "I don't know about you, but I could go for some real lunch right about now."

America grinned. "Hǎo zhǔyi!"

Romano took them to a small cafe, further away from the touristy areas. It was one of his favorites, one of the main reasons being that the owner was a very lovely young woman. She came over to their table to greet him as soon as she saw him.

He was happily chatting with her; America seemed content with closely perusing the menu. The atmosphere wasn't as hectic as it was out in the streets; quiet conversations in Italian carried on around them and old Italian ballads played softly from discreet speakers.

After a few minutes the owner asked if they were ready to order. Romano placed his own order and was wondering how America was going to do the same, but the other nation smiled up at her and pointed to something on the menu, saying, "Zhè ge!"

The owner, bless her, didn't even blink. "Buona scelta!"

The two smiled at each other before she left.

"Wait," Romano demanded. "You understand Italian?"

America gave him a weird look, then shrugged. "Duì ah?"

"You can speak it?"

Frowning, America replied, "Xiàn zài bù xíng."

"Well of course not now, but usually?" Seeing America's surprise, he rolled his eyes. "If you can speak Italian, I can speak some basic Mandarin. It's not a big deal." Something suspiciously akin to admiration showed on America's face; Romano had to look away before he blushed. "Well, I don't really know enough to have a real conversation, so we'll just have to do something else until our food gets here."

America's face lit up. He stood quickly, grabbing Romano's hand to pull him up and into a clear area, where he proceeded to start moving them in circles in some bizarre semblance of dancing.

Romano was momentarily stunned.

"What-what the hell are you doing, bastard?" he demanded indignantly. America just grinned down at him. "First of all, this is not an actual dance. Second, we are going way too fast for this music. And third-" Romano pushed back against America, trying to make it so that he was the one leading. He slowed them down and into a simple waltz. America let him with no resistance. "-if anyone is going to lead it'll be me. Idiot."

America nodded. "Va bene!"

Romano almost tripped.

Thinking back, he realized something important: ever since he'd gotten off the phone with his brother, he'd been speaking Italian. And America had been hanging around him, in this Italian cafe with Italian music and Italian conversations and Canada was going to kill him.

Somehow, he couldn't do anything but laugh. "This is ridiculous."

"Can't argue with that."

Romano smiled. "It's always an adventure with you, isn't it?" He'd meant for it to sound exasperated; for some reason it just came out as fond.

America hummed thoughtfully. "I kinda like that, actually."

"You would. Bastard."

So they danced.

"You know, you're not half bad at this. Maybe later we'll try pizzica."

America's head tilted to the side, quizzical, searching his face for something. Whatever it was he was looking for he must have seen it because he smiled and answered, "That sounds fun, Romano!"

When Canada found them (Romano didn't know how he found them, but he did, and it made him that much more intimidating), they were discussing other Italian folk dances, specifically ndrezzata, over coffee.

"Ciao, Canada!" America greeted him, smiling. Canada didn't say a word, just glared at Romano and dragged his brother away.

The next day was the last day of the meeting, and America approached him after it ended.

"Hey, Romano!"

"Back to English then, are we bastard?" Romano smirked.

"Yep! Canada gave me a really long, boring rundown of all the stuff I missed from the meeting in English."

His voice was back to being loud, Romano noted, but he had lowered the volume from the meeting some to talk to him. And he realized, watching as America stuck his tongue out to indicate the unpleasantness of the "really long, boring rundown," that the expressiveness he'd seen in him the day before was still there. Probably it had always been there, but now he knew to look for it.

"Sounds fun," he replied, covering his mouth as the last word turned into a yawn.

"Tired?" America asked concernedly.

"Didn't sleep very well last night." He'd had a nightmare about Canadians.

"I gotcha. Well, um, I came over here to say thanks. For looking after me yesterday."

Romano blinked. "You-you don't have to do that." Seriously, the idiot was thanking him? When he knew the reason Romano had volunteered in the first place? "Actually, I uh..."

America waited.

Romano took a deep breath and painstakingly pronounced the phrase he'd looked up on the internet last night. " Pee-lah-mah-yah-yeh-lo."

America looked completely flabbergasted for a moment, then his face broke into a broad, dazzling grin. "You're thanking me?"

Romano shrugged, embarrassed. "Well, yeah. B-because I had fun yesterday. So. You know."

"That's great, Romano." America's voice had softened; Romano was almost afraid to look at him.

"And...and it's not like I intend to ask you for anything, because," he risked a glance at America's face, "that would be stupid, asking you for something when all we did was hang out and...yeah."

America was silent for a moment, and Romano was certain he'd messed it up (why had he even mentioned it? He'd been doing fine and then-ugh, why?). But then suddenly America had an arm around his shoulder and was grinning and their faces were much closer than was really acceptable but somehow Romano didn't mind at all.

"Hey, if you're interested in learning more Lakota words, we could maybe hang out this afternoon. If you want to?" America asked hopefully.

Romano finally allowed himself to smile back. "I'd like that."

"Alright! Si tratta di una data!"

Romano's breath hitched, before surprised laughter bubbled out of him.

"It's always an adventure with you, isn't it?"

END

NOTE: I couldn't figure out much about how the Lakota language works, so when Alfred says something in Lakota, I wrote out the phonetic spelling of one word, like "understand," to get at the basic gist of what Alfred is saying. Hope that's not too confusing.

okahnigA ("o-kah-knee-ga")= understand, Lakota

matoskah= white bear, Lakota (one of my personal headcanon names)

okiyA ("oh-key-ah")= help, Lakota

oh-yah'-tay= nation, Lakota (*also can mean people, as in tribes)

ksapA ("k-sah-pah")= smart, Lakota

ee-chu ("eat you")= to take, Lakota

grande fiore= big flower, Italian

Grazie= thank you, Italian

gelateria= like an ice cream parlor, but for gelato

Nǐ zěnmeyàng= what's up?/how're you doing?, Mandarin

Hǎo zhǔyi= good idea, Mandarin

Zhè ge = this, Mandarin

Buona scelta= good choice, Italian

Duì ah? = correct, (what about it?) Mandarin*

Xiàn zài bù xíng= I can't right now, Mandarin*

Va bene= okay

pizzica= type of Southern Italian folk dance for two people

ndrezzata= type of Southern Italian folk dance for multiple people, was popular for a while on the streets of New York in the 1910s

Ciao= hey/hello, Italian

Pee-lah-mah-yah-yeh-lo= thank you, Lakota (interestingly, this is said differently if you are female)

Si tratta di una data= it's a date

The Pe' Sla is sacred land in the Lakota area that people are trying to buy back from the U.S. government, which is auctioning it off.

The Grand Flora Hotel is a five-star Marriott hotel very close to the Spanish Steps and the Trevi Fountain.

As far as I can tell from Google Maps, those are accurate directions for getting from the Grand Flora to the Trevi Fountain. I don't know if there's actually a gelateria anywhere along the way.

All information on Siouan languages, as well as Mandarin and Italian, comes from the internet. I don't speak any of those languages or know anyone who does, so I apologize for any errors (if you notice something, please point it out and I'll change it!).

Most of the Lakota words I got from Lahcotah: Dictionary of the Sioux Language, which is a short dictionary from 1866 available online. I can send a link if anyone's interested.

**EDIT: Huuuuge thanks to Fan-of-Fandoms for correcting the Lakota words, and to SapphyreMist for correcting the Mandarin! Google is no substitute for someone who actually knows the language, so they really helped me out a lot! Check out their reviews for more info, because the grammar really is very interesting.