This is a little one shot I did in school while I was bored. That's also the reason Ita's a girl. Though it's also like that in my head cannon; I just suck at writing yaoi.

I needed a break from Perfection planning, so I took some time to write this little thing down.

Disclaimer: Nope! ^^

It had been too long, Holy Rome decided, getting out of bed after another sleepless night. He hadn't seen Italy for years, and he was extremely lonely. This war had to end soon. But Holy Rome knew that wouldn't happen. He had seen the recent battles, and it was getting out of hand. Any more of this, and he would loose, maybe even dissolve. It was a known fact that dissolving was probably one of the worst pains a country could feel.

Holy Rome knew it was inevitable, but he wasn't going to go walk off to his death without doing one thing. He sat down at a small desk and began to write.

After finishing his letter, he called a bird to him, one that knew where Austria's house was. The bird took the letter, and flew off into the dying sun. Holy Rome sighed and turned around. He was going to give it one more shot, for Italy.

He grabbed his sword, put on his hat and cloak, and stepped towards the door. He paused for a moment, and turned to look back into his tent. In the corner, there was a small push broom, and seeing it, Holy Rome smiled sadly.

"Good bye, Italia," the country said. "I love you." And with that, the small nation walked out of his tent and towards the battlefield.

A mile south, the bird flew with purpose, trying to get its master's letter to the girl. Unfortunately, a hawk swooped out of the sky and grabbed the bird in its clutches, the letter falling towards the earth, forgotten.

In Austria's house, Italy gazed out of a window at the sunset, sighing. She hadn't gotten any sleep last night. She missed Holy Rome too much. The days were getting less and less bearable. She couldn't even find happiness in her art. When she tried to draw a scene of the small town nearby, or a sunset over the woods, her hands took over and she unconsciously drew Holy Rome's face. Her room was littered with drawings of him. They were taking up a lot of space, and Austria often complained, but she could never bear to throw them away, and he would never force her to.

Hungary tried to help the younger girl cope, but disaster struck when Austria received a letter from the war. Austria handed it to her, and she started shaking as she read it. Italy would be devastated when she found out.

"Ita-chan?" Hungary asked, peeking into the girl's room. Her drawings were strewn around her on the floor, and she had obviously been crying. "Here," The woman said, handing Italy the letter.

Italy gripped it eagerly, hoping for some good news. It broke Hungary's heart as she watched Italy's face sink from desperate hope to despair.

"Holy Rome… is gone?" Italy squeaked out, trying to control the tears in her voice. She failed, and she burst out crying. Hungary stepped forward to comfort her little sister figure, and she gave her a hug.

"It'll be okay, Ita-chan," Hungary said. "You have to keep living for him. As long as you keep living, a fragment of his heart will live along with you."

Italy nodded, and swallowed her tears. She would keep living for Holy Rome.

It was World War one. Italy Veneziano had seen the war, and was sick of it. Disgusted with it. Her brother, Italy Romano, was the same way. Despite having polar opposite personalities, they were similar in many ways.

They both hated war, were terrified of unknown things, and they both had their designated siesta times. And they both cared for each other immensely. When Italy had been unified, she had ran toward her brother and hugged him. She hadn't seen him since she had been captured by Austria, and he by Spain. That was the worst part of living at Austria's house: not being able to see her fratello. Everything else had been wonderful, even cleaning hadn't been too terrible. And then there was the person who had made her childhood wonderful: Holy Rome.

Italy Veneziano started to tear up, then stopped herself. She promised herself long ago that she wouldn't cry over Holy Rome anymore. There was no use in it. Italy heard a snap in the woods she was hiding in and her head shot up. The only place there was to hide was an abandoned tomato crate (had her brother left it there?) in a clearing, and Veneziano dashed towards it, jumping in and closing the lid, wishing she had gotten more sleep last night. She would have been able to detect the intruder earlier if she had.

As soon as she had closed the lid, she heard a person entering the clearing. He (she could tell by his voice. He was muttering to himself) tapped the box with a stick, and Italy freaked out. She begged the man not to open the box, but he ignored her.

"No, wait!" she cried as the lid was forced open. She started begging her captor not to hurt her, but in the middle of her (very fast and long) beg for mercy, he picked her up by her collar and asked her who she was. She opened her eye in surprise. He wasn't going to hurt her? Italy's eyes widened in shock. He… he looked like Holy Rome. He obviously wasn't – he didn't recognize her and he looked to mean to be him – but the resemblance brought Italy to tears again.

"You. Who are you?" the tall blond man asked. Italy quivered. "Do you know where I can find Italy, the descendent of Roman Empire?" At her grandpa's name, Italy perked up.

"You know Grandpa Rome?" She asked. "This is great! At first I thought you were all scary and mean, but -" Italy was cut off as the man shook her slightly.

"Shut up!" he yelled, causing Italy to try to shrink into her uniform. After a moment of consideration, the man announced that she would become his prisoner. Italy smiled to herself a little on the inside.

I was inspired to write this after reading a similar doujinshi. I can't remember the name, but it was really well drawn and really touching. I cried the first few times I read it.

I just noticed something: I have a lot of one shots. Most of them are almost-raw and undeveloped plot bunnies that just randomly showed up at my doorstep, demanding to be written, and holding other plot bunnies hostage. The plot bunnies in my head are kind of violent, especially compared to the ones in my pantry and under my bed.