A/N: This song is the most wonderful Romano and Spain song ever. It's wonderful altogether! Can't you picture it? Romano singing to his little tomatoes and Spain joining in? If you can't picture it, then just read ahead, because that's exactly what I wrote!
Summary: Romano sings to his tomatoes, and Spain can't help but join in.
"Somebody told me, I don't know who
Whenever you are sad and blue
And you're feelin' all alone and left behind
Just take a look inside and you will find…"
-Hang On Little Tomato, Pink Martini
Hang On Little Tomato
Spain had been reading something, some horribly boring economics report his boss had given him to look over, enjoying the wonderful smells of Romano's cooking, when the rain started. It was a light drizzle at first, and neither of the countries had paid much mind to it.
They were in the kitchen, Spain leaning back in one of the wooden chairs at the breakfast table, and Romano bustling from the stove to the refrigerator to the cupboards. For once, they sat in companionable silence; Spain not bothering Romano because then it would mess up dinner, and Romano not bothering Spain because, hey, he had pasta to concentrate on.
They stayed like that for a while until, suddenly, a crack of thunder startled Spain and he rocked back in his chair, the front legs coming entirely off the ground. Spain let out a cry and dropped the papers, but Romano stuck an arm out and caught the back of the chair, pushing Spain back up.
"Antonio," he said sternly, using Spain's human name in a tone that clearly meant interrupt-me-again-and-you-die. It reminded Spain so very much of the way Romano used to talk to him when he was just a small little boy, although he would never use that particular moniker to "Boss Spain".
"Sorry, Roma," Spain crooned, looking out the windows. The rain hit the pane in fat drops, splattering angrily against the glass. Vaguely, Spain could sense Romano's frown deepen. He turned off the stove with a quick snap and stormed towards the front door suddenly, leaving a bewildered Spain behind.
"Roma? Romano?" Spain sighed and got up from the chair, stooping down quickly to pick up the scattered papers. As he stood up and set them on the table, he glanced out the window and saw Romano scurrying off to the garden.
Immediately realizing what this was about, Spain hurried out to the front door, grabbing two umbrellas from a closet as he passed it.
The torrent of rain hit him the second he stepped out from the safety of the house. Spain cursed quickly, immediately regretting it when he realized Romano could have heard him. He didn't normally swear, especially not when the younger nation was around.
Spain started down the cobblestone path that led to the garden, where Romano's prize tomatoes grew. They were at Spain's house mainly because Romano claimed that, although Italian soil was the best for tomatoes, his brother would ruin anything Romano tried to grow in an attempt to be "helpful".
Spain didn't doubt that, and he had wondered at the time how many poor tomatoes had been destroyed before Romano pocketed enough pride to come to Spain. The little nation tried to be so independent from his former caretaker, and although Spain liked to think Romano was warming up to him slowly, he was still as prickly as he had been when he was a child. Spain had to tread a very thin line every time Romano came to visit, because for all the nation was a hassle he was still a very good friend to Spain.
Spain couldn't help it; he let the smile grow wide on his face the moment he saw Romano, hustling around the garden to try to shield his poor tomato plants from the onslaught of rain. The younger nation looked almost out of breath from moving from one plant to another so quickly and quite possibly from the run over to the garden as well, but his lips were moving in a way that did not look like breathing.
It took Spain a few moments, but eventually he heard it: the soft lilting voice travelling through the roaring drizzle of rain. Romano was singing to the plants.
Spain would have laughed, he wanted very badly to laugh, but he bit his tongue. Romano would kill him; he already had a very bruised ego and Spain did not want to make it any worse. Also, Spain really did want to eat his dinner tonight rather than drink it through a straw, if Romano would even be kind enough to leave him that.
Instead, he stood there and listened to Romano sing, picking out the words over the rain.
Hold on, hold on through the night, hang on, things will be all right
Romano had now started to reinforce the wooden poles, which were sinking into the mud, the heavy tomatoes drooping dangerously close to the ground as the poles slipped further and further down.
Just hang on, hang on to the vine, stay on, soon you'll be divine
There was a sickening pop as one tomato at the other end of the garden fell off the vine and into the mud. The other tomatoes shook violently in the wind but miraculously stayed put, to Spain's relief.
Romano's face twisted up as he stared at the fallen tomato. Spain decided that moment to walk over to him, the umbrella outstretched as a peace offering. The nation looked up at him, his lips moving silently. Spain smiled kindly and opened the umbrella, slipping the handle into Romano's hand and holding his arm up. Romano's brows furrowed angrily, and his face reverted back to its normal features.
"Idiot, I can hold an umbrella by myself," he said, snatching his hand away from Spain's. Already, the rain was starting to transition from hurricane to thunderstorm. Spain smiled at the blue skies off in the distance.
"I think you're song worked, Romano. Look at how strong your tomatoes are!"
Romano gave him his trademark are-you-an-idiot-oh-wait-you-are look, his jaw a little slack. Spain just smiled all the more, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
Finally, Romano turned away and looked back at the garden, where the tomatoes were blood red in the approaching sunlight. A small smile tugged at his lips, and he turned back suddenly as Spain started to sing, loudly and deeply.
If you start to cry, look up to the sky, something's coming up ahead, to turn your tears to dew instead
Romano stared at him in shock, even though he had heard Spain sing numerous times when he was younger or when Spain was drunk. This was different, though, not the hesitant lullaby of a new parent-figure or the ridiculous slur of a drunk. This was sure and strong, and it warmed something in Romano's heart.
Slowly, Romano's lips began to move, and together they sang the last verse.
And so I hold on to his advice, when change is hard and not so nice
You listen to your heart the whole night through, your sunny someday will come one day soon to you