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He wakes up one morning to discover that he is no longer a Nation.
It seems to have been the case with the other Nations as well. The first person Ludwig calls, fumbling for his phone in a panic, is Feliciano. In hindsight, he realizes that this might not have been the most helpful move.
"Yeah," Feliciano says cheerily, "I woke up and felt kind of funny too. Maybe I'm just hungry. I'm going to make breakfast now--Okay, ciao!" And hangs up.
--
The same seems to have happened to all the rest of them: Honda, Arthur, Alfred, Wang...even Ivan. They hope it's only temporary. Their respective bosses are feeling various degrees of worry or anxiety--but hopefully this will all blow over in a short while.
Ludwig sits in the front room of his neat little house in Berlin and ruminates. Until things return to normal, he has been given holiday leave. In all honesty, he doesn't know what to do with himself, and he feels agitated. His week's schedule has been completely thrown to the winds, and he can't imagine how he's going to make up for lost time once he returns to work.
He glances at the newspaper he'd left on the coffee table, but somehow finds himself reluctant to even pick it up and skim through its pages.
What being a Nation really means is being in-tune to all the workings of one's country, of the people, the government, the health and triumph and losses of the whole. It also means being immune to all the normal methods of death--being something not really human. Suddenly, all of that has changed for Ludwig. He feels...different. Cut-off. Fragile, in a very strange way.
To take his mind off things, he sets out to clean the house.
--
Feliciano later proposes a holiday trip of sorts.
He has called Ludwig on his cell phone and "Germany, Germany!" He yells into the phone. "What are you doing today? If you're not busy, you should come visit! Let's go on a drive around to see the countryside!"
Ludwig contemplates the idea of being stuck in the same car as Feliciano for several hours, out in the Italian countryside. He's allowed Feliciano to drive before. It is not an experience he cares to repeat.
But Feliciano continues to chatter, about all the fun they're going to have. Ludwig moves the phone a little ways from his ear so that the sound of his friend's voice isn't so loud, and he eyes his office--which is well-organized and spotless--and the towel that he has been using to wipe what would seem to anyone else to be imaginary dust from his shelves.
He says yes.
--
Ludwig flies down to Feliciano's house in Rome. Feliciano meets him at the airport, which is dim and stuffy and a little dirty, but outside Ludwig can see the beautiful yellow and green landscape of southern Italy. Technically, Feliciano's domain is northern Italy, but more recently he's been living in the capital with his older brother. Feliciano waves when he sees him from the airport entrance, and drags Ludqig along to where he's parked the car.
From Rome, they plan to travel around the towns in the countryside.
Ludwig has tried to plan their route by the minute, and somehow he knows that Feliciano will ignore all of it--but he's given it his best try anyway. Also, he brings a GPS. He doesn't trust Feliciano to drive, even though technically this is Feliciano's country, and therefore the man should know the roads like the back of his hand. Ludwig still insists on taking the driver's seat.
The car smells like the food Feliciano packed--slices of pizza wrapped in wax paper. Pasta in brightly-colored plastic containers. Basil. Tomato. Garlic. Cheese. Ludwig had brought German sausages as well, packed in foil and put in the back with his suitcase.
The weather is hot. They roll the windows down, and the fresh breeze passes through the car and rumples their hair and it feels wonderful.
--
On their way out, they stop to fill-up gas and go inside the Autogrill rest stop by the highway.
Feliciano orders caffè for the both of them. The drink is hot but not scalding--made to be drunk quickly. They take it standing at the round, chairless high tables that are near the counter, surrounded by shelves of snacks, canned drinks, magazines.
While Ludwig sips his drink, a batch of American tourists arrive, loud and jostling as they pass through the turnstiles at the entrance. Ludwig thinks of Alfred and winces. The tourists are wearing t-shirts and shorts and jeans and tennis shoes. The style is probably comfortable, but it isn't particularly attractive.
Feliciano, on the other hand, for all his childish eccentricities, his clumsiness--he always dresses well. Slacks. Loafers. Button-up shirts in pleasant colors. At least, he starts out well-dressed in the morning. By the end of the day, his shirt has come untucked, the buttons on his cuffs undone as well, and suddenly his sleeves are flapping around his wrists every time he gesticulates during conversation.
"So how are things back home?" Feliciano asks. "Good, yes? That's good. I'm so happy that Germany could come down to visit me!"
He smiles at Ludwig like the happiest child, and Ludwig finds himself smiling slightly back.
"Oh, tourists!" Feliciano remarks, hearing the Americans speak English behind him, and whirling around to look at them. "I wonder if America-a-a-a has started figuring out what to do about his economy yet...but his people are still coming to visit my country, so I guess things aren't terrible yet. I love visitors, yes I do..." And Italy starts singing in Italian then, into his cup, in his usual happy way.
Germany sighs, though not really irritated. He supposes that he should have seen this one coming, between the sugar and the caffeine and Feliciano's usual demeanor.
"Ready to leave yet?" Ludwig asks after a moment.
"Oh? Oh, yep---yes I am." And they leave, but not before Feliciano has managed to buy more snack foods for the road.
--
Ludwig drives through the beautiful fields and hills, where once there was one of the greatest ancient empires on the continent. It is beautiful, and Ludwig finds himself soothed in an odd way. Italy's government has placed restrictions of billboards and urban development so that the natural beauty can be preserved, and he is happy for that. Feliciano seems to be happy too. He's turned up the radio, and Italian music is filling the car while Feliciano sings along. He finally suggest a town that they should stop at, and they do. They drive along quaint little country roads, and then park under a tree to get out and walk and explore.
The odd thing is...the absolute normalcy of all of this. Ludwig can't remember the last time he ever did something so ordinary and civilian.
They walk up to an old monastery on a hill on the outskirts of the town, and then look down upon the view. Feliciano sits down on a large rock and sighs happily.
"Bellissimo," Feliciano sings. "Mmm, now all we need is a picnic."
Ludwig looks down upon the man sitting on the rock, and just laughs. "Always at ease, eh Italy?"
"Always," Feliciano agreed.
"Even back when we were fighting together," Ludwig added, shaking his head wryly.
"Especially back then. Italy can only take so much of your serious training, Germany."
Apparently, Italy can only take so much hiking in one morning too.
In the afternoon, Feliciano insists they stop for a pausa pranzo--a proper hour-long lunch break, followed by a proper hour-long siesta. They go back to the car and picnic on pasta and wursts. And when all the shops close, and the local people remain inside, Ludwig and Feliciano nap as well, in the shade and settled side by side.
Ludwig is also the first one up again. After about half an hour of sleep, he's staring off at the dirt of the road and the tall wild grass and at the blue sky over the dark of the cypress trees. The sun turns everything bright gold.
It's different, somehow, now that he's human. His body feels heavier--or at least, somehow, he's more aware of it. He can taste the dust in the air from the road, the food settled in his stomach, the grease of the sausages on his fingers. The clime is hot, sweat beading against his skin, and Feliciano is a warm, firm weight against his side.
Everything is different.
It used to be that people saw them on the streets and they would know that there was something unusual about them, these Nations. A Nation's own people would feel automatically drawn to him or her, somehow, but Ludwig has noticed that the odd passerby does not so much as glance twice at Feliciano. He feels it--the sensation of being smaller, and yet somehow more present in every moment--instead of being spread over a track of land so vast...And so this is what it feels like, to be a individual of a nation, and only human.
They drive further in the early evening, and arrive at a Tuscan hilltop town. They roam the streets and have dinner and wine and Feliciano clings to Ludwig like a kitten.
"You've had too much to drink," Ludwig observes, all dryness, as Feliciano laughs.
"Never, never," Feliciano says, and laughs again.
The sky darkens overhead, and the moon comes out and makes the little streets glow with the light. They check into a hotel in the town, and the room is spare but comfortable, with stripped curtains and two beds and a lamp on a nightstand.
--
That night, Feliciano crawls into Ludwig's bed. He isn't particularly graceful about the act either--poking Ludwig with an elbow, then a knee, and "Sorry! Sorry! I'm reealy sorry Germany--!" and "I know, I know, stop being so loud or someone's going to hear you!"
Ludwig scoots to one side of the bed, and then finally they've arranged themselves comfortably, Ludwig sort of kneeling over Feliciano, and Feliciano looking up. The mattress squeaks and dips as Ludwig leans down. Ludwig has had sex with Feliciano before, but somehow it feels nothing like this--heavier, and a little awkward, and strangely intimate. Feliciano's toes curl in pleasure as Ludwig kisses his neck.
When they're finished, Feliciano is lying with Ludwig's arms draped over him, lightly holding him. Ludwig is just about falling asleep when he hears Feliciano speak.
"Ludwig."
"Hmmm?"
"Ludwig." And then Ludwig realizes that Feliciano isn't referring to him as Germany, like he had been all the day before. And there's a strange note to his voice--uncertain. Hesitant. "I...."
"What? What's wrong?"
"It was different today, wasn't it?" Feliciano hesitates, and then says, "Not only just now...but everything. The whole day. Wasn't it?"
Ludwig glances down at Feliciano. "Well, yes."
"And now it's dark...and it still feels..." and he trails off, and is silent for a long, long moment.
Ludwig simply waits, his arm around the other man.
"I'm glad you're with me," Feliciano finally says, all at once.
Ludwig just kisses the top of Feliciano's head. After a while, the other man falls asleep at last.
As a human, the odd little curl in Feliciano's hair is gone. Ludwig misses it, but maybe they've both gotten something better in exchange.
--
Maybe this is normal. Every once in a while, forgetting the politics and the wars, and just being human.
Yes. Maybe.