Author's Note: Uck... drama chapter.

"It's Spain."

"What's wrong with him?" Italy asked urgently.

Romano choked down a sob. "H-his water broke. Th-they're d-doing a c-s-s-section."

Italy sighed with relief. "Why are you crying then?" The Italian exclaimed happily. "This is wonderful! You're going to be a Papà, Romano! A Papà!" Italy's heart skipped a few beats. He was going to be a zio—an uncle.

The soon-to-be-uncle heard a voice speaking in hushed tones to Romano.

The man-in-question went into hysterics, screaming at the muffled voice, "You bastard! I'm gonna kill you! You hear that? Kill you!"

Italy jumped at the sound of Romano's shrilling. "What's wrong?"

There was a solid smack, skin-to-skin, and a door slammed loudly.

Romano, replying to Italy question, shrieked into the phone, "Non sono lasciarmi andare con la Spagna!" ("They aren't letting me go in with Spain!")

"They probably fear your... ah..." Italy knew to tread with caution. One wrong word, one slip-up, Romano would reach through the phone, strangle Italy, and violate rigor mortis body's curl. No one was going to violate his curl. Except for Germany (which wasn't violation because Italy consented) and France, which, in France's cause, wasn't technically violation, because Italy never explicitly stated that he didn't want it. Italy found the right word, "Reaction."

"My reaction!" Romano snapped back at his younger brother. "What damn reaction? Do you fucking think I over-goddamn-react? When have you ever, in blue fuck or pink shit, have you seen me over-goddamn-react?"

To avoid a big "over-goddamn-reaction", Italy did not respond to the question. He only said, in an unaturally quiet tone, "We'll be up in a few, okay, big brother?"

Romano sighed. "All right."

Italy smiled and said in his normally peppy tone, "Arrivederci!" ("Goodbye!")

"Arrivederci," Romano grumbled before putting disconnecting the call.

"What was that about?" Germany asked as Italy sat the phone on his nightstand.

Italy smiled and grabbed Germany's hand. "You won't believe it! We're gonna be uncles, Ludwig! Uncles! On Valentines Day! Best Valentines Day of my life!"

Germany smiled slightly. "Wonderful."

"Come on, Germany!" Italy cried as he leapt from the bed. "Time to put your big-boy pants on! We've gotta a niece and or nephew to go see!"

oOoOoOoOo

After arriving at the hospital wearing their big-boy pants, they found Romano in the waiting room. Once the normally grumpy man caught sight of his brother and brother-in-law (well... his brother's partner according to the German civil partnership law), his face broke into a grin.

"Oh, no!" Italy cried at the sight of Romano's smile. "What have you done with my brother, you big meany?" Italy next slapped Romano's right facial cheek very hard. The slap was heard all across the hospital.

"I am in such a good mood right now," Romano began. "That smack could not even ruin it, little bastard."

Italy blushed a cherry shade of red. "Sorry, big brother." Italy's eyes lit up. "So, did Spain have the baby?"

"Yeah," Romano said as he chewed one of his nails. "A boy. We named him José Andrea Vargas Fernández."

Germany was stunned by the name. It was quite strange, just to be blunt. "Why would you give a boy the name Andrea? And why does he have the double-surname?"

Romano flushed and stomped his foot. "Andrea is a boy's name in Italy and that's how you name a child in Spain. You get a paternal last name and a maternal last name," Romano growled.

"Let's go see the baby!" Italy exclaimed as he began dragging his brother and life-partner by the sleeves of their shirts out of the waiting room and down a hall.

"Spain's room is the other way, dammit!"

Italy spun around on his heels, keeping a tight grip on the sleeves of his two most loved people-nation-thingies. "Thanks, Romano!"

After a few more wrong turns and a lot more of a screaming Romano, the trio made it to Spain's room. Spain was half-awake and holding the baby.

"Te amo, Pepe," Spain said to his sleeping son. ("I love you, Pepe.")

"What is a 'pepe'?" Italy blurted.

"Well," Spain began. "He was supposed to be Tomato, but Romano didn't like it. So, we had to name him José Andrea. We're going to calm him Pepe, though. It's not as good as Tomato, but it's better than José Andrea."

Romano closed his eyes, shook his head, and grumbled under his breath. Spain was being impossible. What dumbass would want to name a baby Tomato? That's a fucking vegetable, not a suitable name for a child.

"He has a lot of hair," Germany pointed out.

Pepe did have quite a good amount of hair. It was a dark, rich color, much like Spain's. It was very wavy, too.

"Yeah," Spain said, smiling par usual. He snuggled Pepe closer. "He is pretty cute, too. And he's the personification of Madrid."

"Oooooooh! How'd you find that out?" Italy was giddy to know.

"All a' Madrid started partying," Romano replied. "Not like that's unusual."

Italy laughed. Germany gave a slight smile. Romano's statement was entertaining because it was the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

The four stood in the room and chatted about Pepe and other things for about an hour (but mostly, they talked about Pepe) before Germany told Italy his feet were hurting and the odd couple booked it.

"Adiós, Pepe!" Italy told his no longer sleeping nephew as he left just to show-off his knowledge of remedial Spanish.

Once back at home, Italy and Germany went straight to the bedroom. Germany needed a foot massage terribly.

"Just a foot massage," Germany warned as Italy settled by Germany's feet at the foot of the bed. "I've had enough sex."

Italy sighed sadly as he rubbed Germany's foot. "All right."

"That was pretty amazing sex, though."

Italy looked quizzically at his partner. "Really?"

Germany nodded with a grin on his face. "You're far from a sex-god, but it was pretty good."

Italy rolled his eyes and replied in a very sassy manner, "Not everyone can be like your brother, Germany."