Spain worked. He didn't much like it. It was mainly long meetings, lots of paper work for the "National Emotions Assessment and Predictions," and boring days spent trapped inside on sunny days.
Even when Spain wasn't inside, he was usually on a plane or driving through Europe. Boss called in "National Security and Relation Meetings," but Spain would usually just have lunch with someone and chat about whatever was on the news.
Spain liked his home, but he was never there. He also liked turtles, and he wanted a huge tank of them, with rocks and a little fountain.
"I wouldn't be home to feed it," Spain lamented to Italy during one of their meetings.
Italy, who was texting Norway and losing handily at 'Words with Friends,' grunted.
So, Spain improvised. He stood in his kitchen, hands on his hips, looking around. He needed something that would work well as a replacement for a pet. Something he liked as much as turtles, but that he could take with him.
His eyes fell on a tomato.
Spain laughed, shaking his head and turning away. No, that would be ridiculous.
Later that night, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, Spain considered. The tomato haunted him as he went about his day at work, when Boss told him he would be heading to Italy. After all, it would be a funny joke.
Spain took the tomato and put it in the passenger seat.
For a while, they drove in silence, Spain occasionally looking over at the tomato. He was a nation. He had waged war and killed people and sailed on the seas, screaming in the middle of storms as he swung from sails.
Spain cleared his throat. "We're going to see Italy."
The tomato sat.
"I think we're going to see Veneziano first, but we're going to see Italy after that. Just to chat, but I don't think Italy will want to hang around with Vene today. Norway's been beating him."
Spain looked over. The tomato was a good person, he decided. An excellent pet and a wonderful listener.
Spain introduced the tomato to Veneziano, who had looked between the fruit and Spain before laughing and playing along. They talked over brunch, relaxing in Veneziano's garden and occasionally explaining something to the tomato.
"I think I like this tomato even more than I liked your bull!" Veneziano laughed and reached over to pat the tomato. "Have you shown him to Romano yet, because I bet he's going to love it, because he could do with a good listen!"
It was true. Spain loaded up the tomato and drove down to Rome, looking at the tomato and laughing to himself. The whole thing was ridiculous, but it didn't stop him from telling the tomato that they were almost at Italy's house.
Spain pulled up and grabbed the tomato.
There was a lot of dark mutters about interrupted siestas, but Italy seemed happy enough to see him. They went out back to the newly-installed pool and lounged, talking about work and the sky and the way radio static was almost relaxing if they were both too lazy to change the station.
Italy got up to get another bottle of wine, and it hit Spain like a ton of bricks that he had left the tomato on the kitchen counter. He watched with horror in his eyes as Italy reappeared, munching on the tomato and brandishing another bottle of wine triumphantly.
Italy frowned. "What?"
Spain floundered for words. "You ate him!" He jumped up, approaching Italy and staring at the tomato with nothing short of despair.
Italy, panicking, backed away. "What?!"
"I couldn't have turtles so I got a tomato!" Spain took the tomato from Italy gently, cradling it. "And you ate him!"
Italy opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, having trouble deciding if Spain was being serious or not. Truth be told, Spain was having trouble deciding, himself. He looked down at the tomato and back up at Italy, at a loss for words.
"We need to have a funeral," Spain finally whispered.
Italy burst out laughing.
Posted by aph–spain or aphtomato: Headcanon that Spain once had a pet tomato but Romano ate it :v