[Disclaimer] Hetalia and all its likeness does not belong to me. No profits are being made off this story.

A Tomato Whose Name I Don't Know Yet

Chapter Six

"You know, I've been thinking about what Austria said to me."

Spain was enjoying a siesta in the front of his yard with a cool class of sangria glued to his hand. It wasn't as relaxing as a hot summer day, but it was nice enough that the sun was out and the sharp smell of freshly cut foliage clung to the air.

France had been helping him a lot the past few days. Spain didn't have the heart to tell him he was harvesting his King's rose bush.

France hummed to himself as he pruned off the gorgeous blossoms one by one, delighted in the Spanish roses he could adorn himself with.

"What, that drivel about countries and marriage and what have you?" France replied absentmindedly. His sleeve had caught on a thorn and now he had a loose thread.

"Yeah, well—no, it's not that untrue, now that I've thought about it. Countries really aren't like normal men at all."

"Oui, we're quite bigger than mere men." France raised his eyebrows and clicked his tongue against his teeth. The thread was annoying him.

Spain laughed. "I mean, it's easy for a citizen to love his country. And it's even easier for a country to love its people, since they're what make us, us, or something. I'm not really sure about the reasoning behind that..."

"Get to the point." France said, digging through his Louis V bag for a smaller pair of shears.

Spain poked France in the cheek. "What I'm saying is, he's right. It's actually not easy at all for nations to love each other."

France's followed the line from the tip of Spain's index finger, up his arm, all the way to those green eyes. He bit his lip and refrained from rolling his eyes. "And yet, Austria is a bit easy, isn't he?"

"Hm?"

France waved a gloved hand quickly to ward off the topic. "Ah, I agree, nations do have lots of history together that makes it très difficile."

"Then there are our bosses who make things even more complicated! I swear I've always had problems with mine." Spain flopped down onto the grass, not really caring that he was getting sprigs of rose bush in his hair as France chose his flowers. "It makes it even worse to love a country like that."

"I have had a good feel for what my president wants, on occasion." France chatted. A delicate white rose was cut off and made its way into his frilly sleeve. He missed the days when he could wear his most decadent coats and lace. He cut two more white blossoms to make up for it.

"Ohhhh, don't tell me that!" Spain said chuckling even as a blush came to his cheeks. "You didn't. To your boss?"

"Every man, woman and child should feel the loving touch of their country at some point in their lives." France had a twinkle in his eye as he said this, a gentle wind stirring his rose bush and rustling up a beautiful petal effect.

"That is how patriotism is born. This is one of my beliefs as a nation and something I'm proud of executing on a daily basis."

Spain stared at the other country for a long moment, at least until the wind and petal effect died down, and then he snorted. "Ok. You're definitely a pervert." He began laughing in earnest as France chased him with the garden shears.

France huffed and took a long sip of Spain's drink. He was prepared to face the lesson for today, laden with the beautiful flower of love and sweet wine. He took an even longer sip. He would need it, today's lesson was:

"Penetration."

Spain spit out his drink.

"Infiltration. Getting inside!" France smirked deviously. "For this, you should get out your heavy artillery and—"

"Wait, wait." Spain looked uneasy. "Don't we have a practical test on any of the other lessons? I think we failed miserably at the last one. Let's have a redo."

"Let's not beat around the bush," France announced instead. "If the other lessons failed then this is your best bet."

"Or last resort," Spain laughed. "How are we going to accomplish this?"

"We're going," France pointed, "To the United Kingdom."

"Errrr…"

Spain scratched the side of his cheek as his French speaking companion knocked on the door. "Not that this isn't a good idea, because it isn't, but I'm pretty sure England doesn't want to see either of us."

"Nonsense." France replied. "This is perfect. Not that our charms and good looks aren't irresistible, because they are, but we need someone who won't get obsessed with you."

"Why's that?" Spain asked innocently, rocking back and forth on his heels. England always took way too long to answer his door.

"Well I don't think I'd like that very much." France looked over his shoulder at his friend and winked; a milky white rose by his cheek.

Spain could feel the blush rising to his face like the mercury in a thermometer.

"The world only needs one Casanova, Spain." France finished, and picked the lock on the door with his rose stem.

The brunette rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, following after the other romantic. The house smelt distinctly like mothballs.

"YOU!"

A sound of a rifle going off was their only warning. Spain pushed France behind him for cover and then produced his own shotgun.

"Britain!" Spain shouted out in an attempt to find the source of the insanity. "Show yourself!"

"Stay where you are!" The accented English was shouted from beyond the parlour. A few more shots were fired off, making France scream and dive behind a shaggy coach.

Part of the ceiling fell down, causing Spain to drop his gun and roll out of the way.

"Angleterre!" France called. "Don't you think you're overreacting?"

"So. You brought the French with you this time then?" England appeared from behind a wall in his dining room. The only reason they saw him was because he'd blasted a hole clean through. He had a mad look on his face like he was ready for a war to sweep in through the awful paisley curtains.

"It seems he's upped his ante since I last visited." Spain explained, laughing a little nervously and brushing the wall plaster from his hair.

"Oh please." France stood from his hiding spot. "Stop being ridiculous, we just came for a visit!"

"Right." England ran a gloved hand through his own dull blonde hair, ceiling plaster and dust smoking out from it. He looked about ready to take aim again until the grandfather clock in the den began chiming.

"Well, come along then. It's tea time."

"I swear, I'm not here to try and get some!" Spain pleaded. Then, "This time."

"Eat the damned scones!" England thrust the plate at the brunette's head and Spain had no choice but to hold the dish on his lap, looking terrified.

They were in England's sitting room, squashed into a too small tweed couch behind a coffee table while the short nation steadied his gun at them.

England sat down in a flowered print arm chair in front of them, gun still poised as his assistant served them tea and scones.

France tried to placate the angry nation with a small smile. "Please. I brought Spain here to teach him about penetration! Hm, that is to say…Infiltration." Obviously he hadn't thought this lesson out enough, judging by England's purple face.

"Have you been drinking?" The English speaking nation asked plainly. "I can smell your wine breath from here!"

"It was sangria." Spain chimed in helpfully.

The shotgun was cocked at his head and the hostage nation had no choice but to lift one of the rock hard scones to his lips.

England watched with one beady eye, almost looking like he was enjoying himself, as Spain was forced to bite into the pastry.

Spain's eyes watered. "Mm... Yum." He chewed slowly.

"Yes…" The side of England's lip was twitching pleasantly.

"O..Ok," France tried again, deeply disturbed. "Well there's no reason to torture us! Spain has been under my wing ever since that day you hit me with my baguette." His mouth pursed as if he'd eaten smelt something sour. Maybe it was the pudding.

"Really."

"He's back on the path to love with my help!" France proudly preened, poking Spain's scone-filled cheek.

The United Kingdom did not look convinced. He leaned forward, setting down his gun. Spain swallowed in relief, but then his eyes widened in alarm, realizing what he'd just ingested.

"Listen." England said lowly, and France wondered if he should risk stealing a kiss when his firearm was so close. Any other day he might have, but the awful cook nation had it out for Spain today and that was a good enough reason as any not to play around with England anymore.

"Oui?" France tilted his head, watching as a smirk besmirched England's face.

"You two can stay for supper, or leave right now."

Beside them Spain was groaning and gripping his stomach, hoping the scones would come back up. His face was turning a slight green.

"Maybe we will." France's eye twitched in irritation.

"Please no!" Spain gasped, pitching himself sideways to dry heave over the side of the couch.

"If you're going to be sick, do it outside!" England's head seemed to be roasting. Annoyance was coming off him in visible waves. A tiny tear was at the corner of his eye. "What went wrong with that batch…?" He muttered as Spain bolted for the door.

France figured Austria would have been a more accommodating guest. Sometimes playing with England wasn't fun at all. He stood to leave.

"One moment." The gun was trained on him this time and France blushed in dismay.

England eyed him with no mild frustration. "France, you've never won any wars. Who told you comparing love lessons to battlefield tactics was a good idea?"

The long haired blond bristled with a tight smile stretched across his lips. "It's not the metaphor that matters; it's the meaning behind it."

"And what's that? That he's going to end up falling in love using your idiotic rules? That's a laugh if I've ever heard one."

"Non. The message is simply that one must fight for what one loves."

As soon as the words left his mouth France had an epiphany. He paused, turning the idea over in his mind.

"Newsflash!" English always grated on his nerves. It sounded so uncultured. "He lost what he loves and he's trying to find something new! You can't just send a soldier into battle to fight blind! Ugh, this is like trying to draw blood from a bloody stone!"

France raised a delicate eyebrow at that and chuckled, but his mouth became a thin line, demeanour no longer able to be hidden with a smile. "Stop being a jackass for moment, hm?"

England's eyebrows narrowed dangerously at that. France was sure one of these days those monstrous brows were going to overtake the shorter nation's lower face and then strike for the heart. It was a tragedy waiting to happen.

"I never said the message was for him." France touched the bite mark on his hand. "Spain can't read the atmosphere. There's no point in trying to convey a romantic message in that way."

"Then what is the point of this?"

"To make him happy." France replied as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

The sentient eyebrows shot up to the English speaking nation's hairline in surprise.

France watched in fascinated horror. He should have known; England's brain had always been the first to go.

End Chapter Six