A/N: My apologies that this took so long to be updated. I'll be upfront – the main reason for the delay was my starting a new job in a completely different field, which has sucked quite a bit of out of me these past few months. The result is we are two chapters in and already that deadline is looking more like a "maybe". We'll see how it goes, I guess!

I'm elated that Hetalia will be restarting in April, and that we may soon be welcoming new fans, as well as the return of some old ones. It's a series unlike any other and seeing it breathe back to life, even after all these years, was a great motivation to get this chapter out. It turned out much longer than planned, but I hope it makes up for the long wait.

Thank you for the wonderful comments, and I'm sorry I couldn't reply to all of them. Please know that each of them has been indispensable to the writing of this chapter, and I relied heavily on your words of encouragement to find the energy to keep chugging on. To find out that there are readers who are looking forward to this little continuation was so gratifying and humbling; I only hope it will continue to be an enjoyable experience for you.

Lovino woke early the next morning as white sunlight grazed his face, slipping through a gap in the curtains. Yawning and rubbing at his unfocused eyes, he sat up and looked around sleepily before noticing his brother's jacket was gone from where it hung by the door. There was a second of confusion as his groggy mind grasped at the significance of the detail, before the memories from the evening before resurfaced and he gasped, snapping his head around to find Feliciano's bed empty. The blank, slightly wrinkled bedsheets greeted him silently, giving nothing away as to his brother's whereabouts.

He has probably gone for a morning walk, Lovino reasoned with himself, trying to quell the fast beating in his chest. But unease gnawed at him as he thought back to Feliciano's tearful face in the cellar and how quiet he had been during dinner, barely responding to their Grandpa's concerned prodding. And there was undeniable anger there as well, as his thoughts strayed to the cause of his brother's unusual behaviour – the picture of the German soldier he had held so dearly, and his agonised confession...

His knuckles turned white as he gripped his sheets. His little brother, in love with the enemy. Even now he could not believe it, but there had been no lie in Feliciano's words last night. He had spoken them as though he was stating an immovable fact, despite the impossible circumstances surrounding them. Somewhere in the deepest recesses of his mind, Lovino found himself resentful of how easily his brother had poured out his heart. For years Lovino had floundered as his emotions battled with his mind, regret and longing for Antonio's smile wearing at his resolve. Many a times he had wished for the right path to magically make itself known to him, or, failing that, for an excuse for him to finally give in. And in one week, Feliciano had met someone he would gladly give his heart to, with absolutely no care or regard for the consequences.

Distantly, Lovino wondered if Feliciano had told the German of his feelings, and if they had been returned. Something akin to envy stirred within him as he imagined the two of them together in the same spot in the photographs, sitting against the ruined wall and leaning into each other...

But somewhere along the way the image in his mind flickered and transformed, and it was him and Antonio in their place instead – Antonio taking his chin in long fingers and tilting it up gently, his face shadowed as he leaned closer, eyelids sliding shut... Lovino shook his head, snapping back to his senses and trying to rid himself of the heat that had risen to his cheeks. Just the night before, he had sworn to guard his desires more closely, but still his heart betrayed him. He groaned and passed an exhausted hand over his face, before swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His throat suddenly felt parched; he was in sore need of a glass of water.

Sounds of movement reached his ears as soon as he opened the bedroom door. Frowning, Lovino padded down the hallway to the front of the house, expecting to find Feliciano back from wherever he had gone out to. He stopped when Roma came into view instead, heavily slinging a worn messenger's bag over his broad shoulders as he made his way to the front door.

"Grandpa?"

Roma started, turned, and smiled when he saw his grandson standing there in his nightclothes. He looked as though he had hardly slept the night before. "Good morning, Lovino. Did I wake you with all my thumping around?"

Lovino shook his head, slightly bewildered. "Are you going out? It's still early."

"Today's meeting is very important. I want to get to the cantina to look over these papers with Antonio before everybody else arrives." Roma jostled the bag he was carrying. "You needn't hurry, though. Is Feliciano still asleep?"

Lovino's breath stuck in his throat as he remembered Feliciano's absence and the photographs. "Yes," he blurted without thinking, and mentally kicked himself. Why didn't he just tell the truth?

Thankfully, Grandpa did not seem to notice the slight waver in his voice and only nodded, sighing softly. "Let him sleep in if he wants. I don't want to distress him any more with all the talk about the current situation. You saw how he was last night."

Lovino bit his lip. For a wild second, he imagined telling his Grandpa everything; about Feliciano's infatuation, his secret meetings with an enemy soldier, and the threat he posed to the resistance. But he knew that for all his carelessness, Feliciano would not betray them and put his family in danger – and besides, Lovino had made a promise. So he did his best to mask the turmoil he felt within, and simply nodded dumbly.

Roma already had one hand on the doorknob, but he hesitated before turning back to face his grandson. "Lovino, there's..." All of a sudden, he looked unsure. Confused, Lovino waited for him to continue.

Roma opened his mouth again, but still looked as though he was searching for the right words. "About yesterday," he started. "In the garden."

Lovino froze. The garden. Antonio's head in his lap, his fingers running through his hair. Grandpa finding them there together. His mouth felt dry as he recalled the short, peaceful time he had spent there before everything went downhill. He could not find the words to defend himself – nor, surprisingly, the will. Gritting his teeth, he waited with bated breath for Roma to speak.

But his grandfather had broken eye contact with him, shaking his head and turning away again. "Never mind. We'll... we'll talk later. After the meeting."

He was already past the threshold before Lovino could reply, door clicking shut behind him. Baffled, Lovino gaped at the spot where Roma had been standing a mere second ago. He had been sure that he would at least be admonished for letting himself be alone with Antonio, or worse, be questioned about his feelings for him again. He had never known his grandfather to leave so abruptly without speaking his mind. Lovino didn't quite know whether to feel relieved that he had – he was almost afraid of what he would have confessed to if the conversation had run its course.

Speaking of Antonio... A new heaviness made itself known as Lovino was reminded of his early departure the evening before. Too much had been weighing on his mind then, so he had not pursued any further, but now he almost felt sick for not having at least inquired. Without an inkling of what Antonio had been up to, his imagination was left to its own devices. A memory Lovino hadn't thought of for years suddenly floated to the surface of his mind; Antonio bleeding out into the makeshift bed in the back of the meeting room, face pale, chest barely moving with the shallowness of his breath. Lovino inhaled sharply as the familiar thrill of fear shot through his veins, before quickly shaking himself out of his jumbled thoughts.

Get a grip, he told himself firmly. He'll be there today, at the meeting. He'll be okay.

He cleaned himself up and changed into proper clothes, trying to keep himself from brooding with little success. Before long, it was time to leave – but Feliciano had not yet returned. Unsettled about the fact that his meek, considerate brother had left the house without a word, Lovino wondered briefly again where he could have disappeared off to even as he kicked the door close behind him and set off for town. He thought about lying in wait to catch Feliciano for questioning, as their conversation from the night before had been left very much unfinished. But try as he might to ignore it, his worry for Antonio was overtaking all other thoughts and feeding into his impatience, hastening his pace.

It was just as he passed the last of the fields stretching between their house and the village that he heard it; a faint, mechanical buzzing sound that reverberated in the air and grew louder with every second, until soon the sky seemed to be filled with its deafening roar. Alarmed, Lovino looked up and froze as the source of the sound caught his eye; there, high up in the distance, were the shadows of several planes as they shot across the grey canvas of clouds. Fear spiked in him as he saw they were headed in the direction of the village, and for a long, panicked minute his mind's eye was filled with the vision of a shower of bullets raining down on the townspeople, blood running in the streets, the lifeless bodies of his Grandpa... Antonio...

But as quickly as they had appeared, the planes were gone, soaring in formation over the horizon until they were reduced to tiny specks. Lovino let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, before forcing his shaking legs into a run. Whatever was going on, he would find the answers at the cantina.

.

The door to the back room of the Cantina Verde was slightly ajar when Lovino arrived. The other resistance members had not gathered yet, and the usual murmur of conversation before a meeting was absent. Lovino slowed down to catch his breath before moving to push the door open, but he stopped with a hand on the wooden surface when Antonio's distressed voice sounded from the other side.

"This cannot be... Roma, you are certain this is the final copy of the document?"

His grandfather's deep voice answered. "This is the only copy, as you well know, Antonio. Is there an error somewhere?"

There was a slight pause, filled only with the sound of shifting papers, before Antonio spoke in a stiff tone. "I only wish. This pilot... I recognise his name. From before the war." He sighed heavily. "Surely, there is no crueller trick fate could play on us."

"What? Let me see."

Anxious to know what was causing Antonio to sound so defeated, Lovino tried to peer in through the gap in the door, only to jerk away as hurried footsteps sounded from the front of the cantina. Feliciano rushed into sight, breathless, and would have barged into the meeting room as well had Lovino not managed to seize him by his shoulders.

"Where the hell have you been, I had to lie to Grandpa..." he hissed, then stopped to take a closer look. "Have you been crying?" The rims of Feliciano's eyes were vaguely red, and faint tear tracks stained his cheeks; Lovino didn't think he would have noticed had he not been practically nose-to-nose with him.

His brother ignored him. "I have to talk to Grandpa. The Americans are here."

Confused, Lovino stared at him, brows knitted. It took a moment for him to link the new information with the planes he had seen on his way here – it would certainly explain their unusual behaviour. But he hadn't expected to find out about it from Feliciano, of all people.

"How can you know..." Realization dawned on him as the dots connected. The German. Of course. "You were with him."

Feliciano shifted uncomfortably under his accusing glare, but he did not deny it. "I didn't tell him anything, Lovino!" he whispered desperately. "I just wanted to see him, I..."

Rage bubbled up inside him at Feliciano's blatant disregard for the situation at hand, but Lovino didn't have the time for this, not now. "Shut up, Feliciano, I want to listen to this." Then, to remind his brother that he had not yet been let off the hook, he added, "We will talk later." Turning his attention back to the conversation on the other side of the door, Lovino held his breath as Roma spoke, his tone perturbed.

"Perhaps it is not who you are thinking," said Roma. "Perhaps this is a common German name."

"It's not that common." Antonio sighed, resigned sadness evident in his voice. "I can't believe this. Of all the damn places the Germans are fighting in the world right now."

"You were friends with this German?"

"With his brother. We knew each other for years, we were even going to start university together in England; us and a French friend of ours."

Antonio's words rang a familiar bell in Lovino's mind, and he remembered that autumn day in the garden, the first time they had properly spoken after his painful, gut-wrenching rejection; Antonio leaning back to gaze at the pale blue sky, smiling softly at a cherished memory, recounting the foolhardy adventures he had embarked on with his two friends and animatedly describing to Lovino the sights he had seen with them. The German he was talking about must be the same one from his story, Gilbert. It was still strange to consider that the wild, reckless man Antonio had spoken so fondly of was a soldier fighting on the opposite side.

And from the sounds of it, his brother was stationed at the air base they were planning to attack. Lovino's chest clenched with sympathy as he imagined how Antonio must feel.

Beyond the door, Antonio continued heavily. "But then the war broke out, and they both joined the military. I've tried to keep track of them over the years, but it's been difficult, even for me. My French friend is a Captain in the French Intelligence and basically untraceable. And the last I heard about the German there had been some sort of scandal with an Austrian musician and he was sentenced to a punitive unit on the Eastern front. He's probably dead by now." His normally breezy voice was flat and subdued; he sounded as tired as when Lovino had found him sitting here in this very spot, just the day before.

"And his brother is on this list," said Roma, slowly.

"That's right. The last time I saw him he was just a kid, quiet and plane-mad and already built like a tank. But he's one of the most honourable, decent people I've ever met."

There was a brief pause. "Antonio, I hope you know..."

"It's a shame," Antonio cut in resolutely before Roma could finish his sentence, "but there is nothing to be done. I know who my loyalty is to."

Lovino closed his eyes, and found himself wishing for a world that was indeed as black and white as he once believed it to be, where everyone they had ever cared for was on their side, and only the evil and depraved could exist on the other. In such a world, perhaps, Antonio would not have to sacrifice his friendship and forever lose a part of his treasured past, and Feliciano would not have fallen for a man who fought for a country that sought to oppress them. In such a world, life would have been so much simpler, and so less painful than the one they led now.

But it only lasted for a moment, as Roma's next words unceremoniously drew him back to the harsh reality.

"Your loyalty," said his grandfather. Something had changed in his voice; it was lower, guarded – Lovino could almost see Roma's sharp, hard eyes boring into his own. "I must admit that I've been wondering lately, Antonio, if perhaps my grandson has anything to do with that."

Everything stopped. Lovino's eyes flew open, but for a second he could not see nor hear anything. Shocked, he could only stare at the dark expanse of the door before him, almost forgetting to breathe.

There was a long, harrowing silence. When Antonio finally spoke, his voice was tense. "Roma..."

"I am not stupid, Antonio," Roma continued as though he had not heard him. "It has been quite obvious for a long time now that you have feelings for Lovino. Too obvious."

Lovino could not believe Grandpa was saying these things, and to Antonio himself of all people. The world was spinning too fast for him beneath his feet, and he was starting to feel dizzy. He grasped the door frame to steady himself.

Feliciano's quiet voice came from behind, sounding as panic-stricken as he felt. "Lovino..."

"Shut up," he whispered, almost on reflex. He couldn't think straight. Strangely, he felt almost detached from the conversation happening beyond the door, as though he was an outsider looking into the events of a dream.

"Roma," repeated Antonio, steadier now. "You know I would never..."

Grandpa interrupted him again. "I have nothing against your preferences, my friend, as far as I am concerned each man's personal business is his own. But you can be quite oblivious to things at times, so I will spell this out. Lovino obviously does not return your feelings. You need to accept that, and let it go."

Lovino felt as though he had just been struck by stones. No. No, that's not true. Grandpa had no idea how safe Antonio made him feel, wanted and loved like he had never been, and that he was the only thing sustaining Lovino these days – but then, he had never admitted anything except that he felt otherwise. Regret surged up from his stomach like bile as Lovino closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the cool doorframe, remembering his words to Roma only two nights before. If he had only been honest...

A thought struck him like a lightning bolt. This could be the moment Antonio finally gives up on him, all because he had failed to speak openly when there had been the chance. Now that even his grandfather had confronted him, what merit could possibly outweigh the risks for Antonio to keep pursuing him?

Unaware of the torment he was putting his grandson through in the other room, Roma was speaking again, sounding slightly more like his usual amiable self. "I am sorry. This is not what we were talking about. I just felt it needed to be said."

"Fair enough," Antonio replied easily without missing a beat. His tone was also light and pleasant, seemingly indifferent to Roma's harsh words – but it held a chilling, steel-like undercurrent. "And I feel it needs to be said that my loyalty has always been to a free Italy and to any group that opposes the German fascist movement. Do not forget what brought me here, Roma, or the reasons I choose to risk my life for a country that is not my own. And none of my personal relationships have anything to do with that – not my former friendships with German officers or my feelings towards your grandson. And while we are on the subject, Lovino is a grown man, capable of making his own decisions. As is Feliciano. They are not the children you treat them as."