"They left the room's key card…" Spain shook his head at his friends; they called him the dumb one! Speaking of friends… "Amiel…" Israel turned her head to look at him, gold flecks in her irises glowing in the lamplight.

"What?" She quirked an eyebrow, and Spain found himself wondering, if she was as old as the hints she was dropping said she was, as old as he thought she was… How many other people had done this for her? Had bandaged her up after an injury, and stayed by her side until she recovered? Had it even been friends that would have done that, or did she have soldiers who felt it was their duty? Servants? And what about the past few decades? She said that she'd been in hiding, but if this happened every time there was a bombing... how did she deal with it?

"How-" he started to ask, but lost nerve. "How well do you think you can sit up? Because we can set up pillows to support your back."

"Oh really." Israel suddenly smiled, and sat up herself. "I heal fast, don't worry about me. I took care of myself all the years I was in hiding, either that or I'd purposely get involved in a fight and claim my injuries were due to that when we got to the hospital." Shit, Spain thought. she knew. She scoffed at Spain's incredulous look, scoffed and rolled her eyes. "People pick on my people all the time. I get myself involved and give the one of mine an chance to get away, and whale on the people who thought it would be fun to mess with a Jew. By the time police show up to break it up, I've normally broken a few limbs (maybe skulls) and can say my previous injuries were ones I got in the fight. Even though humans fight so pathetically, there's no way I'd actually get injured by them."

"But isn't that dangerous?" Spain worried like a mother hen, Israel reflected. Romano had to get credit for putting up with him. And she thought that maybe he wasn't as dense as it seemed, he was just better at reading girls than men. He'd picked up on her hints; she'd seen it in his eyes.

"They said it was dangerous to make the Promised Land a reality in the middle of the desert, surrounded by those who hate us. We did it anyway." Israel reached over and patted Spain on the shoulder. "Don't be worried about me, Antonio, I can take care of myself. I may look 15 and younger than you, but I'm the oldest nation alive. I should be the one fussing over you, technically, but it makes me feel too… old."

"Alright then, we'll have a deal." Spain held out his hand. "I don't fuss over you, and you don't fuss over me. ¿Estás de acuerdo?"

"Sure." Israel shook the offered hand, and they both jumped as France and Prussia started slamming against the door.

"I'll go let them in," Spain rose from the side of the bed and walked over to the door, opening it and almost getting crushed by France and Prussia, laden down with bags of alcohol.

"That was fast," Israel remarked. "What'd you do, run to the nearest grocery store and shove everything in the aisle in your cart?" France rolled his eyes; he had more class then that!

"Can you even drink alcohol, Ami?" Prussia was unloading bottles of vodka onto the bed.

"First of all, don't call me Ami. Second, yes, I can. I was drinking since before you were born, idiot. Third… this vodka is really expensive," she turned the bottle she'd grabbed over to check the price. "In the part of Israel where I lived, you could by vodka for the same price as bottled water."

"…" Prussia stared at Israel with something akin to hero-worship in his eyes. "I love your country." He walked over to the bedside table and dragged it over, placing German beer on top of it. "Hey, Francis, Tony, let's shove the two beds together, and we can all sit on 'em. I don't think it's a good idea to be on chairs way off the ground when some of us are planning on not staying the least bit sober."

"It's a fair point," France acknowledged, going to the side of the far bed with Prussia and shoving it so there was one huge mess of mattresses and pillows and blankets that they then jumped onto (looking somewhat like this: |_||_| ).Israel was moved to the inside of the bed on the right, Prussia sprawled out on the left bed, Spain lay across the foot of both of them, and France (who, in all honesty, needed to be sober enough to make his friends a hangover remedy the next morning) was sitting on the bed with Israel.

"After a few thousand years, my alcohol tolerance is pretty high," Israel opened one of the vodka bottles and drank about half of it. "But this says it's about 90% alcohol, so I should be able to down a bottle or three and get on with it."

After three empty vodka bottles and two of wine, Israel decided that she was un-sober ("Not drunk, because I don't get drunk. I'm just not really that sober.") enough to start talking.

"I wasn't always Israel, you know. In the years I've been alive, I've had a lot of names, ones that I don't use anymore, or that died with the ones that ruled me. The Promised Land, Kingdom of Israel, The Northern Kingdom, Kingdom of Judah, Canaan, Judea, and now just plain Israel. I first became, well, really me when Abraham was promised my land for his descendants. Before that, I was there, I was alive, but I didn't really know who I was. I'd never met another nation-being, and I knew enough of humans to realize that I wasn't like them. I hid out in the wilderness, fending for myself. When I was first promised, when God said that I would be a place for the children of Abraham, I realized. I felt that I was part of something bigger, part of a hope that would last for centuries. Of course, at the time, I didn't know what to call that feeling. I just decided that someone needed me, so I was supposed to stay alive until they got here.

I lived like that for quite a while, hiding wherever I could. Eventually, I found a nice little patch of desert with a nearby oasis, dug my way into a sand dune, and made my home there. My life didn't change much over the first few hundred years, I grew older, until I looked about eighteen in human years-" Israel held up a finger to Prussia, who looked like he was going to interrupt her. "Shh. I'll explain why I look so young now later. Now… where was I…

Well, first you need to understand that even though I'm a nation, I'm not exactly like you. Like any other one out there. I was the Jewish homeland, so wherever Jews were, what they went through, I went through. I wasn't just affected by the battles going on in my country, no, I have scars from revolutions in Egypt, pilgrims in America. I'm linked to my people in a way that none of the other nations are.

So, I was eighteen in human years, in the first century BCE, when Rome first meddled. He- Marcus- conquered my land, first making me one of his tributary kingdoms, then a province. After that, I remained under his control for about 1,500 years, 1,500 years of putting up with that bastard." As it had when she spoke on the plane, her voice was fond with a hint of pride, not angry.
"He found where I was soon enough after he invaded, but it was by accident. Him and some of his soldiers had managed to get lost, and he went out walking one night when he decided to flop down on the one sand dune that I was living under, and it collapsed. I got out of it, but when I did, he was waiting. He chased me all the way to my oasis- he had realized who I was, why there was a girl living in the middle of the desert- but I couldn't hide. The bastard caught me and I refused to give up; I would fight as long as my people were fighting. So you know what he did? The jackass tied me to a tree and said that he'd sit there until I gave up." Israel paused.

"And?" France was interested; he could tell that there was something of a complicated relationship between Rome and Israel. In the name of l'amour, he must find out!

"And I tried to get loose, but I accidentally toppled the tree over. After Rome realized that there was no way in hell I was giving up anytime soon, he untied me and dragged me back to his house with him anyway. Dumbass.

I never really stopped fighting, you know. I really hated him at first, and my people didn't accept being ruled. We rebelled in 66 CE, but it didn't work. Again. Four years later… they destroyed Jerusalem, and killed or enslaved most of the population." Her voice was quiet, but full of emotion. "Seventy years later we tried again. For all these revolts, I'd sneak out; I'd get back to my people. I could tell when we were going to try again, I'd make it back there, and I would kill like the rest of mine. This revolt was led by Simon bar Kokhba, and we did it. We made the last Kingdom of Israel… which lasted for three years before that fucking bastard conquered us for good.

But not without a good loss of men and at high expense to him. His bastard emperor Hadrian wanted to wipe out Israel, and called me Philistina. Ugly name. They killed a lot of Jews then, and even more of them scattered, went to different places where maybe they'd be safer. I was a lot larger then, and Rome had ruled different sections of my country at different times. But I- me, the human me, had never had to deal with another nation-being before Rome. I hated Rome, hated him like none other. Like no one before him, and no one after him. I wanted to put poison in his food- I tried, several times-, tried stabbing him, setting traps, putting venomous snakes in his rooms… Oh yes, in the first few years I hated him with a passion.

But something changed… Sure, my nation was a troublemaker, refusing to submit willingly, but me…

I fell in love with him. With Marcus, not Rome. Never Rome. And he ended up loving me too. He respected my ingenuity and courage, my ability to fight to the last man standing and then kill myself to avoid slavery; I, his resourcefulness and strength, his refusal to give anything up. Even me... I was his first, and he mine. But the, something changed…

In the first century BC, Julius Caesar said that us Jews were free to worship in Rome, he said it was because of us helping in Alexandria. Really, Marcus went to him and asked, said it was a good idea and that it might have us stop rebelling. He knew that however much I loved him, when the revolts- the bloodlust- came over me, he had to watch his back, because I'd be hiding with a poisoned dagger in the shadows. But 66 CE, a group overran some Roman base on Masada- a past emperor had created his own safe place there, long story, I'll tell you later- and set up a home there. A group of Jews willing to do anything to stay away from the Romans.

That corresponded to something in my life, as well…" Israel sighed, mouth getting dry after so much talking, and grabbed yet another bottle of liquor. The Bad Touch Trio marveled at their new friend's ability to hold her alcohol; she hadn't been stuttering or slurring her words at all. "Marcus was away a lot, I knew he was with other women. Did I care? Not much, I knew that either they were humans, little things that would die soon enough, or if they were other nations… They accepted him when he came around, and didn't miss him that much when he was off on some conquest or something. They weren't like me. They weren't stuck in this endless cycle of love and hate with him, fighting almost to the death in the day, then falling in love all over again at night. They didn't hide in the rafters of his room to jump him with a poisoned knife when he came home, didn't hide on the rooftops of his villa to shoot at him with arrows when he crossed the courtyard, didn't keep him on his toes, keep him guessing. I knew that however much our nations hated each other, we were together for a reason.

He was away on campaign when I found out." Israel placed one hand on her stomach, voice suddenly somber. "I was pregnant. I knew it wasn't a human child, I knew it was Rome's. Rome's, not Marcus' because I could feel it. If I had the child, it would replace me, would be the Roman controlled Judea. Would show that we'd been defeated. Then, something happened." She breathed in deeply, her face suddenly going blank, and her voice completely flat. "Masada happened. The group of Jews hiding on the mountaintop were besieged by more Romans, and at the end…

They knew they couldn't win. The Romans used Jewish slaves to build ramps of earth up to the top of the mountain; the resisters couldn't kill them, for the soldiers would just get more. But they did escape, they won in the end." Israel tilted her head back, a truly frightening smile now on her face. "They drew lots. The defenders killed each other, then the one man left alive committed suicide. There were two women and five children, hiding in a cistern, that lived, but… The idea in and of itself was brilliant.

When they did that, they child inside me died. I could tell, knew that it was no longer there. But Marcus couldn't know, I couldn't tell him that I would have had his child… the thing was gotten rid of, and he never knew of it. I got through the next centuries by Marcus' side, staying with him in Rome, except for once a year. The tenth day of Tishrei, I would go back to my land for the holiest day of the year. He wasn't worried that I would run off, after all, where would I run to that he couldn't follow? He always followed…

Those years were a mix of good and bad, those years before he died. I was there, you know." Her voice had become suddenly happier; but it was a forced cheerfulness. "I was there when he died. Next to him. The last words he said to me… He said that I had to go back to what I'd done before I met him, go and hide in the desert. He asked me not to forget him- how could I, selfish bastard thinking he was some conquering her or something- and…" the cheer was gone, and she hiccupped quietly. Spain, France, and Prussia, having sat in silence to hear her tell her story, noticed with astonishment the tears running down her face. "And," her voice was so quiet, it was barely audible. "He said that he loved me. That I was a scary little spitfire, but I was his spitfire." Israel blinked, once, twice, then slowly fell backwards, eyes closing and empty bottle falling from her hand.

After a moment of silence, Prussia said, "none of this leaves the room. Agreed? She can tell others if she want to, but…" The men were sitting there, still absorbing all that Israel had gone through, and all that she was still going through.

"Agreed," France and Spain chorused. And they drank the rest of the night away, promising to help Israel, simply because she'd had no one for so long. And they all knew what that felt like.

Authoress' Random Ramble

I'm sorry that this chapter was shorter than the last one! *cowers * but, it was originally supposed to be part of the last one, I just didn't have time to type it up…

Ok, soon enough you'll find out why Israel's small nowadays (in her story, she was around 18, but now she only looks, like, 15)

By the way, ¿Estás de acuerdo? is supposed to mean: agree?

And I'm sorry about her tragic past and everything, but… *sniffs* It's ok, I almost cried when writing this. Please don't flame me for messing with history… And Israel didn't tell the Bad Touch Trio all of the story about Masada~ But you'll have to find out about that wayyyyyyyyy later in the story. Like, WAY WAY LATER.

Again, sorry for basically making this a huge monologue, but Israel's story needed to be told sooner or later. I figured sooner rather than later, so if further in the story someone says something that sets her off, you'll know why.

Reviews and story alerts make my new braces hurt less ^^

Less than three. Less than three.