Waiting.

He hated waiting.

Romano was in his room at his father figure's house, staring out at the dark sky. It was approaching the late night, but he couldn't sleep.

He had to wait.

What exactly was Romano waiting for? That stupid tomato bastard to come back if course!

Damnit! Spain had promised that he was just going to leave for a couple of months! A couple - two! It had been three fucking years already!

He could remember it so clearly. Romano had walked in on Spain putting on his red coat on, getting ready to sail towards England. Of course, Romano was only about sixteen physically, so Spain had forbidden him to go with him.

At first, Romano had thought it was only a small thing; however, the moment that he saw Spain unlock one of his trunks to reveal his battle axe, he became worried. He knew that the spaniard hardly ever used his most favoured weapon unless it was a life-threatening situation!

Although Romano had given a pretty good fight, Spain went to battle anyway. He allowed the Italian teenager to accompany him to the docks where it would be the last time that he would see him for a while.

The pier was filled with pirate men bringing supplies onto the ships with them and others running around making last minute arrangements. The sea gave everyone a fresh, salt breeze and the water was mainly quite calm.

Perfect sailing condition.

When Romano saw the ships, he was confident. Spain would win this battle! Besides, that eyebrow bastard had nothing against the Invincible Spanish Armada.

Romano gazed in awe at the giant war ships in front of him. There were at least a hundred of them! There was no way that England could possibly beat them now. Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Looking up, Romano saw the grinning face of Spain. He scowled. How could someone who was about to go into battle look so happy? He could die for goodness sake!

"Why are you so damn happy bastard? Shouldn't you be worried in case you die or something?"

Spain laughed heartily whilst running his hand through Romano's chocolate hair.

"Aww~! Is little Roma worried about me?"

If possible, Spain's grin widened even more. The smaller of the two just blushed at the question.

"Ch-chigi? H-hell no! You're just a stinking tomato bastard! Che cazzo!"

Spain looked at Romano with an innocent and slightly confused face. He rolled his peridot eyes up towards the sky and raised a finger towards his mouth, as in deep thought.

"Eh? Roma~! Do not swear, it's not very nice...and I don't stink of tomatoes do I? Oh well!"

The charming grin returned instantly before he started to walk away, silver battle axe in hand as it gleamed in the sunlight. He handed it over to one of the soldiers who would also be going on the Armada with him.

"Ah~! Well, I'm off then Roma~!"

Romano's hazel eyes widened. What? Spain would just leave like that? Surely he would at least try and hug him. Like he normally would, right?

Without thinking about it, Romano ran as fast as he could towards the Spaniard, trapping the older man in a hug from behind before he could take another step forward.

To say that Spain was surprised would be an understatement. He was positively shocked to the point that he couldn't move. Which was partly the reason why he didn't. Romano had hardly ever shown any affection, especially as a teenager! The second he turned round, he felt the little Italian bury his head into his chest. If possible, he became even more shocked as he felt his shirt become slightly damp.

Romano was crying.

"Promise you'll come back, bastardo..."

The taller man lowered his chin onto his subordinate's head and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him into a comforting hug. He nuzzled into his hair a little, taking in the smell of pasta and tomatoes that the italian seem to always have.

"I promise. Don't worry about me, Lovino."

He felt the little Romano stiffen slightly at the use of his human name, hugging him a little tighter, silently telling him that nothing would break his promise.

Spain had given the teen a small kiss on the forehead before turning around and boarding the main ship. His emerald eyes sparkling with happiness as he waved to his subordinate, before ordering the Armada to set sail. The Italian watched him as he sailed further and further away. Just as Romano was about to return to the house, he had heard his name being called out.

"Oi! Romano!"

The sixteen year old perked up at the sound of his name, spinning on his heels and running back along the pier. He cupped his hands to the side of his mouth and shouted back.

"What?"

"Wait for me! I'll be back soon, mi pequeño tomate!"

Romano blushed at his childhood nickname. He nodded and raised his head to see his boss waving at him one last time, his laugh echoing around him.

Suddenly, he felt a drop of rain fall on his cheek, tracing the trail of an old tear. Looking up, Romano found that the skies were slowly turning grey. It wouldn't be long until a storm set it in, so he would have to run back to the house if he didn't want to be sopping wet. The italian looked towards the ships one last time.

The normally angry Italian let a rare smile grace his face.

He would be back.

He promised.

The young man sighed at the memory. It was the same every night before he slept. Constantly hoping that Spain might just return. He had grown taller in the past three years, and was now physically about nineteen, twenty years old. His half of the country was still under Spanish rule of course, but it had gotten better.

He planned to ask Spain for his independence once he returned so that Spain would stop viewing him as a child all the time.

But it looked like he wouldn't be coming back for a while.

Small drops of rain began to slam onto the windows, the pitter patter of them breaking the serene silence of the house. Honestly, Romano had expected this.

He sighed.

It always rained when he cried.

Spain trudged back to his house, his axe and armour splattered and stained with the enemy's and his own dried blood.

The rain had started roughly an hour ago when he had passed the Spanish border at night. At first, he had welcomed the rain as it washed away any sweat and still wet blood. It cooled his down after the intense heat of the battle.

He was hungry, tired and wanted nothing more than to just lie down. But the war with England wasn't over yet and he wasn't going to give up either. It was only a minor setback that England had pretty much took out half of his armada.

The brunette laughed darkly at how Romano would act if he could see the state he was in now.

He remembered how amazed his little tomato had been when he first set eyes on the armada.

As he carried on along the route to his house, Spain wondered how much Romano might've grown in his absence. He should be a fully grown adult by now.

Finally, the spaniard spotted his house not far from where he was. He began limping a little faster through the stone path towards the large double doors. Most of the lights were already off. Who knew what time it was anyway. However, Spain was glad at least a couple lights were still on, meaning someone would be able to open the door.

Spain groaned every time he took a step up the marble white steps, his blood staining them horribly. He literally slammed the door, hoping someone would open it quickly.

Everything was beginning to become hazy to him. During his trip back, he had been bleeding constantly as he was sure that a couple of his wounds had reopened on his way back, but left it thinking that the pain would just go away. Besides, he wouldn't have let that stop him.

He had a promise to keep.

Instinctively, he realised that someone had opened the door. He could make out his entrance and a person. Trying to put on his best smile, he heard them scream for more help as he collapsed after taking a couple of steps. He felt whoever that person was try and support him. He fell on them, tasting the strong aroma of his blood and metal.

The last thing he heard was screaming in rapid italian before he blacked out.

Damn that England.

Romano was about ready to finally go to bed when a loud knock from downstairs jolted him awake. He began swearing in Italian, wondering who the hell would come knocking at this hour.

Grumbling, he shoved on an old t-shirt and a pair of trousers, making his way down to the entrance. It was likely most of the other servants were preparing to retire for the night whilst Belgium and the Netherlands were about to sleep as well.

Just before he opened the door, Romano froze.

What if it was Spain?

What if he had finally returned?

He smiled darkly.

No. There was no way it could be Spain. He told himself that he wasn't coming back. Not for a long time. Whoever the person was at the door, it was probably just some random travelling person asking to stay for the night.

Sighing, he grabbed the doorknob and pulled the door.

His hazel eyes widened at the sight in front of him.

No way. It couldn't be!

A bloody, tired Spain was standing in front of him. Well, he couldn't call it standing as it looked like he could collapse any second! His coat was ripped in several places and he was pretty much covered in blood. His axe was stained and on the floor beside him and his hair was messed, probably filled with grime, sweat and who else knew what else!

And his eyes.

Romano remembered the spaniard's eyes to be a beautiful sparkling green, always filled with happiness before he left. Now...they looked hollow, emotionless...

...dead.

And the bastard was smiling.

It scared Romano. The sight of a bloody Spain, trying to smile at him and acting like he was alright. This wasn't Spain...it couldn't be...

This was a madman...

Tears began to fill Romano's eyes as he took in the sight before him.

Suddenly, Spain expression seemed to completely drop. He began to waver on the spot whilst he looked half asleep. Unexpectantly, he took a step forward. Romano was still too scared to move as Spain tried to take another step.

Without warning, the latter fell forward, towards Romano. Thinking quickly, he caught the spaniard and instantly regretted it. He had all of his armour on, plus he was heavy.

"Belgium! Anyone! ¡Ayuda! Aiuto! HELP DAMNIT!"

Almost instantly, about five different servants came rushing to the entrance, all gasping at the sight of their bloody master back at his house at last. He began shouting angrily at them all.

"Well don't just stand there! Get Belgium! Help me carry him to his bedroom now! Che palle! Doesn't anyone know how to fucking do anything? Affrettatevi l'inferno in su! Cosa stai facendo lì, aiutami Dannazione!"

Romano's voice snapped all the lingering servants back to reality as they took them from him. He continued shout in Italian, his vision becoming slightly blurry from the tears. How could they just stand there and not do anything?

He was positive that Spain was now unconscious as the servants carried him away. Belgium appeared at the top of the stairs, running towards Romano.

"Come on, let's follow them! What happened?"

"I don't know! The fucking bastard just turns up after three damn years! Who the hell does he think he is? He was supposed to win, not being beat up by that eyebrow bastard!"

Romano panted as he reached the door to Spain's room. He was about to reach for the door when a slim arm reached out to grab his tanned wrist. He looked up at the culprit, glaring daggers at the blonde.

"Belgium... Let. Me. Go. I have to see him!"

"No, Romano. He's obviously in critical condition right now. I need to treat him and then you can, alright? Otherwise I won't let you see him at all. I'm sorry, but you'll just have to wait here." The small blonde girl threatened. Of course, she wouldn't really, but anything to get Romano to not see Spain in his current state.

He hated waiting...

Of course, the italian wasn't happy, but he knew that Belgium was right. He would just have to wait. The green-eyed girl nodded up at him, kissing him on the forehead like she used to and walked in, leaving Romano alone in the hallway.

"Bastardo...why did you have to go get yourself beat up?"

Slowly, he made his way towards a chair next to a window. He looked out again at the darkened night sky. He chuckled quietly, as he heard the chaos in Spain's bedroom.

It was still raining.

"You can see him now."

Belgium walked out of the room, smiling gently at Romano. He looked down and blushed slightly as the young blonde ruffled his hair before walking in the opposite direction.

Suddenly, she stopped and perked up as she had remembered something important.

"Oh, and Romano!"

"Si?"

"He's still sleeping, but if you wait a bit, I'm sure he'll wake up."

"Grazie."

Romano was about to enter his boss' bedroom, when Belgium's voice stopped him again.

"He did it for you, you know."

Romano stopped in his tracks his hazel eyes staring at Belgium with curiousity as she smiled softly back at him. He quickly looked at her now stained clothes. It was mainly her hands and arms which were covered with Spain's darkened blood. Her clothes had a couple of splotches here and there, but nothing too bad.

"Ch-Che cosa?" Romano stuttered, genuinely surprised.

Belgium nodded once again.

"He was conscious for a little while. The only thing that he kept on whispering about was something about a promise and you...Lovino."

The brunette stiffened. There was his human name again. That idiot...so he had just come back to keep a promise. Was he really that stupid?

"Er...Danke u?" Romano mumbled unsurely. Belgium laughed at the italian trying to thank her in her native language. It was cute, really.

He turned back towards the room. Taking a deep breath, he opened the dark wood door, preparing himself to see Spain at his worst. His face dropped as soon as he saw his former boss.

The spaniard was propped up on a few pillows on the king sized bed. There was a towel on his forehead and a few medicine and herbs on the side table. He was topless, which made Romano blush as bad as one of the tomatoes he grew, but he winced as soon as he saw why.

Most of his torso was wrapped in tight bandages in an attempt to stop his wounds from bleeding too much. It seemed there were a couple of layers, but the blood was still seeping through at a couple of spots as Romano could see the dark brown in the midst of the dove white strips.

His arms weren't in much of a better condition either. His right arm seemed to be bruised but his left had a few deep gashed in them. Thank god Belgium had closed them up now. His normally perfect face had also received a couple of scratches, but nothing too bad he supposed...compared to the rest of his body.

Romano noticed that Spain's breathing had become slightly ragged and rushed over to see if he could help. He ran to the right of Spain, grabbing his hand in his and squeezing it tightly. He prayed to God that he would wake up soon. Screw pride, Romano thought to himself as he began to cry again. Damn it all.

He buried his face into his hands, gripping Spain's tanned hand close to his face.

Suddenly, he heard a soft chuckle.

"Awh~! Is my little Roma crying for his boss?"

Said person shot up in surprise, instantly being met with the smiling face and sparkling eyes of Spain. How could the bastard laugh at a time like this?

Quickly, Romano jumped towards Spain, engulfing him into a tight hug, inhaling his scent. It was masked by a thick layer of blood and war, but underneath it all, he could still smell the sun-dried tomato scent that he loved so much.

"Ack-! Roma! You're hurting me! Let go!"

The italian's face changed from happiness to surprise as he got off the spaniard as quickly as he had hugged him.

"Why, bastardo?" Romano growled.

"What do you mean Roma~?"

"Why did you get beat up so bad? Why didn't you just surrender? Why didn't you win!" Romano's voice rose with each question. Not looking him in the eye, Spain looked down at his hands, still stained with a little blood. He laughed again, but it was more of a mocking laugh. He ceased when he saw the solemn look on Romano's face.

"Lovino." This time, Romano showed no reaction, instead, meeting the emerald eyes. "I tried to stop him. I knew he would come back and take my colonies, including you. Besides, Lovi. Tenían más. Me dio una paliza..."

"But I'm fine now! Hey, Lovi~ can you get me a tomato later? Belgium won't get them for me" Spain pouted as he returned to his normal cheery self.

But he would have none of it. He stood up abruptly with such force that he knocked the chair over. Spain's expression quickly turned into a confused one as he saw the normally stubborn italian starting to cry, hot tears running down his olive skin.

"Shut up damnit! That's all you can say? You left me here for three years! I...I thought you were dead, you bastard! You have the Spanish Armada! It's Invincible!"

A pregnant silence filled the room, broken only by Romano's soft sobs. Spain sighed, closing his eyes.

"Ah, Roma~, how you've grown... you're no longer mi pequeño tomate. What happened to my little Lovi~?"

"...he grew up."

Spain smiled sadly as he looked at his 'little' Romano again. It was indeed true. Throughout the past three years, he had gotten a lot taller. His face had stretched out and he now looked a lot more like an adult than a kid.

It wouldn't be long until he asked for his independence.

And that scared him.

Not many things managed to scare Spain. Most of the nations knew that messing with him was not a good idea. Of course, he went into poverty at times, but so did everyone else. But the thought of him losing Romano, forever; what would he do then?

"Chigi...bastardo. If you won't talk to me, I'll just leave then."

Romano turned, about to walk away when he felt a sharp tug pulling him back. He looked down to discover that all this time, he had been clutching onto Spain's hand. He locked eyes with Spain's tired, pleading ones.

"Lovino, please. Don't leave me."

Romano took a sharp intake of breath. Of course. Spain had probably lost tens, probably hundreds, maybe thousands of men already. Slowly, his each of his colonies were all developing, all hoping to gain their independence.

Leaving him alone.

And if he left, he would be the last. Spain had raised him since he was a child. He had lived him and taught him all the skills he now had.

He was not going to leave him.

Not yet.

Romano let another rare smile grace his tear-stained face. Independence could wait a couple hundred years after all. Leaning in, he kissed Spain gently on the forehead and whispered to him:

"Go to sleep, Antonio."

Amazingly, the Spaniard had fell back into a deep sleep as soon as Romano retreated. Spain's grip on him loosened and he placed his arm back on the bed.

Making sure everything was back in place, he made his way out of the room, switching the light off and closing the door gently behind him whilst whispering three words.

"Welcome back, Spagna."

Translations:

Che cazzo - (Italian) (what) the fuck

mi pequeno tomate - (Spanish) my little/small tomato

bastardo (Italian) - bastard (who knew right?)

aiuto! - Help (italian)

ayuda! - Help! (Spanish)

Affrettatevi l'inferno in su! Cosa stai facendo lì, aiutami Dannazione! - (Italian) Hurry the hell up! What are you doing there, help me damnit!

Si (Italian in this case, but also for Spanish) - Yes

Grazie (Italian) - Thank you

Che cosa (Italian) - What?

Danke u - (Dutch) Thank you, formal I think

Tenían más. Me dio una paliza..." (Spanish, google translate used OTL)

You don't realise how much research I had to do about the Spanish Armada and just generally some history.

Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed it! :) This is my first APH fic (The Lost Folder doesn't count; that was my fourth, and you can view it as yaoi if you like. I tried to, but I didn't think that it would fit the mood right now.

Please review and tell me how I did! :) I tried to keep them in character as much as possible, but seeing as it's the first time, I wasn't sure. Constructive Criticism would be helpful!

Disclaimer: I don't own APH

Thanks for reading! :)

~ML