Operation Red Herring (Countryhumans Alternate History)

Chapter 14

Cooking was always something that Italy enjoyed. Maybe it was because it was simple, or because he knew for a fact that he could do it well, but it was always what he fell back on when he was stressed. Something about the rhythmic chopping of the knife, and the certainty that if you left water on the stove long enough, it would boil, always managed to calm his heart and mind.

He was stressed a lot lately, or... perhaps anxious would be a better term. Many nights he found himself unable to sleep, plagued by worries and doubts that seemed to scream in his head. So, after weeks of only falling asleep mere hours before he needed to rise, he had decided to cook. Afterall, if he wasn't going to sleep anyways, he might as well do something he enjoyed, instead of laying in bed for hours on end.

The solitude of it had been nice. He would work in the kitchen until near dawn, sometimes making breakfast for the others (they rarely noticed it when he left it out), other times making whatever he fancied that night, all in the silent company of the moon. He had valued that time to himself, as it seemed to be the only time he was left alone. Throughout the day he was constantly attempting to balance on the high-wire that was Third Reich's mood. One wrong step could send him plummeting, and cause the rest of the day to be spent with violent threats and screams. However, if he somehow managed to make it through the day without slipping up, he would be rewarded by reluctant praise of his work. It was an odd situation, and one that he found exhausting.

However, he eventually realized that it really was just Third Reich that he wished would let him be sometimes. Afterall, Japan, although she was frightening, rarely paid him much attention, and he found himself enjoying having America around. This point was further driven home by his lack of annoyance at her walking in on one of nightly cooking sessions for the first time.

He had been making pasta dough at the time. Something easy and borderline mindless. He had done it countless times before, and could probably do it with his eyes closed. Italy had been lost in his thoughts, and hadn't heard the door open. He had only been made aware of her presence when she spoke.

"Italy?" She had called out, voice quiet and thick with lingering sleep. He had yelped, throwing a wooden spoon at her, which ended up smacking her forehead. She yelped, stumbling back a few steps as the spoon clattered on the ground. The two of them had stared at each other for a moment, Italy elbow deep in flour, America with a bit of egg now on her face from where the spoon had smacked her. "Are you... okay?" She had asked, clearly caught off guard by the whole situation.

He nodded, "Um. Yeah, just... cooking." He had responded. She raised an eyebrow, wiping off the egg with her sleeve. He looked at her for a moment. She clearly had just woken up, and hadn't been planning on staying up, given that she was in her night clothes.

"At two in the morning?" She had asked, confirming his suspicion that it wasn't quite morning yet. He nodded, wiping off his hands on his nightshirt.

"Um, yes. I do that sometimes... and by sometimes I mean a lot."

She nodded, "I see." She shrugged, "Well, whatever floats your boat."

Italy tilted his head slightly, "How about you?"

"Hm?"

"Why are you coming in here at two in the morning?" He clarified.

"Oh, just..." She had trailed off for a moment, eyes looking at the cabinets before she forced herself to look back at Italy. "Had a weird dream and couldn't sleep. I was just gonna get some water."

He nodded, "I see. Well, don't let me stop you."

She had walked over to a cabinet, grabbing a glass. "I'd apologize for you having to see me indecent, but I honestly don't think pajamas count." America had mumbled, causing Italy to stifle a chuckle.