(( By the by, Knapweed is Germany's national flower. And sorry this is so incredibly long o_o ))

Italy leaned over the top of the pot to stare at the water for a moment- there were barely any bubbles in it at all. It would probably take quite a while to boil. He frowned; he didn't have the attention span or patience to just sit there and watch it slowly, slowly, slowly bubble, and... Yeah, no. He'd have to find something else to do, but what?
He paused for a moment to think, hand unconsciously working it's way into his jacket pocket- in which he found a small, rather wild looking purple flower, stem almost completely gone but just long enough to hold on to, or maybe put it behind your ear. He vaguely remembered picking it sometime earlier that day, happy to have found Germany's favorite flower. Italy beamed at the little fiore in his hand; maybe Germany would like it as a gift.
But Italy wanted it to be a surprise, for later, after he'd left, so he put the flower back in his pocket and bounded up the stairs- being rather loud as he did so- reaching Germany's office in only a minute or so. He placed the tiny purple flower on his desk, letting it rest over his papers, so it would put Germany in a good mood to do all that paperwork that was piling up...
It was then that a manilla folder, reading several things in German (the only word Italy was able to understand was Amerika), and then again in English- 'America's next target has been confirmed' in bold, red letters, slightly smaller than the German script above it. Italy picked it up off the desk, curious; he hadn't received any reports (not that he really read them) on America since almost a month ago.
Once again, the report was written in German, and then in English- Italy probably figured it was so it could be shared at world meetings and stuff- and Italy took to the second one, skimming it and-
The smile quickly dissapeared from his face, and he gaped at the paper.
"...A group of recently dispatched spies," He read aloud, hands shaking and face white as a sheet, "has reported that America is planning an attack on Italy, likely by bomber plane. A second group is on enemy territory as of now, but has yet to..." But he couldn't finish the sentence; his words disolved into loud, unmuffled sobs, tear streaming down his cheeks and drenching the collar of his shirt. Italy? America was going to attack Italy?
It was only a moment before the folder lay forgotten on the floor and he was running back down the stairs, wailing at the top of his lungs, "Germany! Germany!"